


Spare Parts

by Strangeredlantern, Vague_Shadows



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, Magical Tattoos, Multi, Other, Past Underage Sex, Polyamory, Polyamory Big Bang, Soul Bond, Substance Abuse, Triad Verse Big Bang 2016
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-04
Updated: 2016-12-04
Packaged: 2018-09-06 08:54:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 21,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8743417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Strangeredlantern/pseuds/Strangeredlantern, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vague_Shadows/pseuds/Vague_Shadows
Summary: “Just take it off if you’re going to look at it anyway,” Derek mutters.“I’m just curious,” Stiles replies.  “Sometimes it settles on something cool for a little while.  Don’t want to miss it.” He peeks again and then glances over to Derek’s arm.  “Don’t you ever peek?”“No,” Derek replies sourly.“Not even sometimes.”“No.” Derek hasn’t so much as stolen a glance in nearly a decade.“Isaac, you’ve gotta peek at yours, though, right?” Stiles continues.“Nope.”A soul-mark polyamory AU written for TriadVerse Big Bang 2016.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome! By the end of this Sunday, December 4th, we will have all the remaining chapters of this story posted. We're currently facing some issues with getting our accompanying artwork posted for the chapters. (The links are almost working!) Thanks for your patience as we get all the formatting figured out. If you prefer, please check back by December 5th for the 100% full and complete Spare Parts.
> 
> We were also incredibly lucky to have the talented Kiyomisa work with us during the big bang! Please check out her artwork at http://kiyomisa.deviantart.com/ or follow her work at kiyomisa.tumblr.com. (p.s., her blog is a great mix of original art and fandom! Be sure to check it out!)

 

**************************************************

 

**They say you can’t love someone else until you love yourself.**

**Bullshit.**

**I have never loved myself.**

**But you, oh God, I love you so much.**

**I’ve forgotten what hating myself feels like.**

**-Unknown**

 

*************************************************

**Chapter 1**

**__________________________________________________________________________**

 

**_Stiles_ **

Stiles stumbles up the stairs, tripping over his own feet even more than usual, one hand pressed to his pounding head as he fights the urge to just stop right here in the stairwell.  Instead, he musters up another burst of energy to get up the last few steps and down the hall, banging on the giant metal door and wincing at the reverberating clang.  

“Derek?” he calls, though if they’re home there’s no way they’ve missed the banging.  “Isaac? A little help?” He winces at the sound of his own voice bouncing in the industrial stairwell. Everything is too loud and too made of metal for this level of pain.

“What the _hell,_ Stiles?” Derek grumbles as he slides the door to the loft open.  “It’s two in the morning.”

“Yeah, but I’m like _dying_ here, dude,” Stiles replies, lurching forward.  “Fuck!”

“What happened? You should’ve gone to a _hospital,_ Stiles.  We--”

“Not that kind of dying,” Stiles interrupts miserably regaining his balance enough to clumsily rush to the bathroom. He doesn’t hit anything on the way. It’s a miracle. He’ll marvel at his grace when he’s not dying anymore.

Unfortunately, puking doesn’t help.  Not even a little.  He splashes some cold water on his face, which doesn’t help much either, and shuffles back out to the main room with the intention of passing out on the couch.  He makes it two steps before he decides the cool, hard floor will do just fine, and lays down in the middle of the room instead with a groan of agony. Hangovers of this proportion aren’t supposed to rear their ugly heads over two beers.

“Great.  So you’re just drunk,” Derek mutters, and Stiles doesn’t have to open his eyes to see the look of supreme annoyance.  Derek’s voice conveys it just fine.  

“Not just,” Stiles mutters, voice muffled into the arm on which he’s resting his head.  “Worse than usual.  I only had like two beers!”

“Sure you did,” Isaac agrees.

“Seriously. Just two.”

“Uh-huh, sure.”

“You’re either a liar or a lightweight,” Derek informs.  “Don’t die of alcohol poisoning on my floor.  You need a doctor?”

“Maybe,” Stiles mutters, a little terrified by just how bad he feels and the lack of data to support this being a normal state.  He’s been wasted plenty of times; he’s been hungover as hell; he’s had his fair share of supernatural-related injuries.  This isn’t just the aftereffects of alcohol.

“Maybe?” Derek repeats, concern sneaking into his voice.  

“Mmmm,” Stiles agrees miserably.

“You’re sure you only had two?” Isaac asks.  “Really, _really_ sure?”

“Yeah, I only had enough cash for two. Couldn’t’ve been more if I wanted.”

“You think someone put something in your drink?  Did you watch the bartender pour it? Leave it with anyone after that?”

“Sheriff’s kid,” Stiles reminds, perturbed, raising a leaden arm to point at himself.  “Not an idiot.”

“Debatable,” Derek mutters.

“Ugh, this is the _worst_ ,” Stiles informs.  “Just knock me out or something; seriously; I know you’ve both wanted to do it plenty of times, so let’s have it. Put me out of my misery.”

“Maybe he does need a doctor,” Derek murmurs to Isaac. Stiles would be touched by the concern if he wasn’t expending all his effort on not crying.

_Please just let me pass out so I don’t have to remember this..._

 “I don’t know a whole helluva lot about the humans and alcohol stuff, but he looks like shit. If someone put something in his drink then--I don’t know--do those kinds of drugs react badly with alcohol sometimes?” Derek wonders.  “Or is it just the drug itself? Is there like a medicine they’d give him if we took him to the hospital?”

If Stiles wasn’t so miserable, he might comment on the hilarity of Derek and Isaac fretting over him like worried parents instead of their usual surly angst-ridden demeanors.

“Wait,” Stiles says, brain sluggishly trying to connect why sometime in Derek’s words sounded relevant.  “Reacts bad... with alcohol….medicine...ah, _fuck_!” Stiles laments as epiphany hits.

“What?” Isaac asks.

“That goddamn medicine,” he realizes.  “I bet this is because of that stupid medicine they gave me for--nevermind what they gave it to me for, that’s not important--but it was strong shit, and they said not to drink but it’s been like two whole days since I quit taking it so I figured I’d be fine.”

“Stiles, I don’t even _take_ medicine and I know you don’t fuck with alcohol when they tell you not to,” Derek says, and Stiles doesn’t need to look up to know that Derek’s rolling his eyes.

“I said it’s been _two days_. I wasn’t even taking it anymore.”

“Taking what?” Isaac wonders.

“Metro---something,” Stiles answers.

“Metronidazole?” Isaac suggests.

“Yeah, uh-huh that.”

He’s thoroughly unamused by the outburst of laughter that follows.

“No, _not_ funny,” Stiles says.  “Also, would it kill you to do that quietly?”

“I don’t get it,” Derek adds, “What’s metronidazole?”

“It’s the hardcore antibiotics they use to help alcoholics,” Isaac shares.  “Because if you so much as use _mouthwash_ you just about instantly feel like you’re in the middle of the worst hangover of your life.”

“Nuh-uh,” Stiles protests.  “It was to keep the infection from--well--never mind that part--but they didn’t give it to me for being an alcoholic!”

“Maybe not,” Isaac replies, “but it’s definitely one of the uses.  My dad was on it for a while.”

“I stopped taking it two days ago,” Stiles persists.

“Well, apparently, it’s still in your system.”

“Would one of you just knock me out already?”

“No, but I’ll haul your ass to the couch if you’ll shut up,” Derek offers.

“Couch is good,” Stiles replies.  “Unconsciousness is better.”

“Don’t be a baby,” Derek chides, but he’s surprisingly careful when he picks Stiles up off the floor.   “You sure he doesn’t need a doctor, Isaac?”

“Yeah, Dr. Isaac, you sure?” Stiles mocks.

“I know he’s not a fucking doctor, but he used to be human.  He knows how the whole getting-over-things-slowly-as-fuck goes.”

“Fuck you and your freakish wolfy healing.  I hate you guys.  You’re the worst.”

“You wanna sleep out in the hall instead of the couch?” Derek mutters as he deposits Stiles on the sofa.  

“Just knock me out,” Stiles whines again.  “Seriously.”

“I’ll get you some water,” Isaac offers, “but you’re pretty much just screwed, man.  I’m _not_ explaining to Scott that you’ve got a giant bruise on your face because I clocked you.”

Derek laughs. “That would go over well.”

“Derek? Help a guy out?” Stiles tries. It’s a last ditch effort. Everyone in the pack refuses to help with hangovers, but Derek can be swayed from time to time.

“Pain builds character,” he replies dryly.  “And I’m not explaining to Scott either.  Don’t be a baby,” he repeats.

“Seriously, you two are _useless_ . It’s like you _enjoy_ watching me suffer,” Stiles bemoans.

Isaac returns with a glass of cold water.  It doesn’t help Stiles’ pounding head all that much, but it doesn’t hurt either.  Derek and Isaac turn the lights off and head back to bed, leaving Stiles to lay in his misery until he finally manages to drift off to sleep.

 

************************************************

 

**_Isaac_ **

 

Isaac wakes first, as usual, and tries to be quiet as he heads for the kitchen past Stiles’ snoring form on the sofa.  Stiles is sprawled out on the couch at angles that guarantee he’s going to be aching all over when he wakes up.   Isaac's eye catches on the colorful, twisting Emblem on Stiles’ inner wrist -- the mark to the world indicating what kind of person he is, or, perhaps more accurately, what kind of match he would make.  Matching colors, similar designs, anything in your Emblem that matches anything in someone else’s indicates your compatibility.  The more similarities, the more likely the matches will work.  Then there are the extremely rare instances when your Emblem matches with two others’ _exactly_ \--practically a guarantee of the longevity of a relationship.   Isaac inadvertently glancing at his own, now hidden by the matte silver cuff circling his wrist.   

He’d hated the jagged crimson lines for so long; somehow they seemed to convey exactly how shattered and angry he was with the world and everyone else in it.  But then, he transferred high schools and met Erica and Boyd.  Isaac’s jagged Emblem started to soften, Boyd’s flowing lines grew sharper, Erica’s blue Emblem darkened to match Isaac’s crimson--until one day, just a few weeks into their acquaintances, all three Emblems matched--and never once wavered.

Until the day Erica died.

The only thing that held Isaac together was the fact that Boyd’s Emblem turned bright blue too.  They managed to hold each other together, despite the pain of suddenly existing as just two-thirds of a whole.  Isaac thought they’d manage somehow.  

And then Boyd was gone, too.

And Derek found Isaac desperately clawing at his Emblem, which was turning into something completely different from any shape it had ever taken before, like a glaring reminder that he was never going to be the same--never going to be okay--without Erica and Boyd.  Just a spare part, left over from what should have been a lifetime of happily ever after.

 

**_Derek_ **

 

Isaac doesn’t notice when Derek comes downstairs.  He’s staring at nothing and fiddling with the cuff on his arm.  Derek remembers too well the day last spring when he found Isaac trying everything short of taking off his own arm to get rid of his Emblem. Derek knows the feeling well enough.  Whatever sick trick of the cosmos led to these ridiculous billboards of vulnerability on everyone’s arm is a ‘help’ he could do without.

“Hey,” Derek says to jar Isaac from his thoughts.  “No coffee? Are we out?”

“Just haven’t gotten that far yet,” Isaac replies.

“Coffee?” Stiles mumbles blearily from the couch.

“Morning, sunshine,” Isaac teases.

“Need coffee,” Stiles says, still half-asleep.  “Stat.”

Derek rolls his eyes at Isaac, who is now in the process of cleaning out the coffee pot and starting a new batch.  Isaac lets out a put-upon sigh.

“Well, at least he survived the night,” Isaac supposes.  “So no worries about the awkwardness of dealing with the carcass.”

“Carcass?!” Stiles says incredulously.  “How about the sad, lifeless body of our most awesome human packmate, you assholes?”

“Yeah, right, totally what he meant,” Derek says.  

“I hate you guys,” Stiles mutters.

“You want coffee or not?” Isaac demands.

Stiles grumbles something that Derek can’t quite make out, but Derek smirks anyway.  Annoying Stiles will forever be one of his favorite pastimes.  When Stiles finally sits up, he looks less like death warmed over than he did last night; he’s still too pale, but there’s a little color back in his cheeks at least.   Derek would never admit it, but he did get up to check Stiles’ pulse a few times last night--just when he was waking enough to roll over or something.  He doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to how easy it is for humans to get life-threateningly ill.   

“If I make food, are you going to puke again?” Isaac wonders.

“Ugh,” Stiles says “never eating anything ever again.”

“You have to eat something,” Derek says.  “It’ll be good for you.”

“It’ll be bad for your apartment when I barf all over the place.”

“Waffles?” Isaac suggests.  “That’s simple enough, right?”

“Ooooo waffles could be good,” Stiles agrees, face brightening at the idea, even though he just said he wasn’t interested.  Then his face lights even more as he says, “Wait, do you mean to tell me that Derek Hale owns a _waffle maker_?!”

“Shut up,” Derek replies, as Stiles breaks into near-hysterical laughter.  “It was a _gift_ ,” he adds gruffly, even though it’s a lie.  

“That is the most adorable domestic thing in the world,” Stiles manages to get out as his laughter finally wanes.  “No more tough, macho werewolf reputation for you; you’re getting a frilly apron for Christmas.”

“ _Isaac_ is the one making breakfast.”

“Hey, the waffle iron was here when I moved in,” Isaac retorts.

“Okay, fine, you guys are _both_ getting frilly aprons for Christmas.”

“That’s it.  No coffee. No waffles.  No more crashing on my couch,” Derek informs, annoyed.  “You’re not dead.  So go home.”

“No, no--dude, it’s not like a bad thing,” Stiles says, the first sign of apology creeping into his voice.  “Just not at all what I was expecting.  Like not _at all_.”

“Maybe you just shouldn’t talk so much before you have coffee,” Isaac suggests wryly.

“Maybe you just shouldn’t talk so much, period,” Derek adds.

“Ah, come on, guys,” Stiles says as he gets to his feet, no doubt coming for the coffee that’s now dripping into the pot.  “Don’t be like that.  You can’t only be nice to me when you think I’m dying.”

“Sure we can,” Isaac replies with a shrug.  

“It’s worked fine so far,” Derek adds, still smirking at Stiles’ annoyance.

Stiles doesn’t comment on anything further as he shuffles his way to the kitchen to pour himself a cup of coffee to which he adds a revolting amount of sugar.   He takes a few sips and then starts rummaging in the kitchen drawers as if looking for something.

“Can I help you?” Derek grumbles.  

“You got, like, a dish towel or something?” Stiles wonders. “Or like a bandanna or--just a random piece of cloth or something?”

“What the hell for?”

“My Emblem’s making me dizzy,” Stiles answers.  “Pretty sure it’s drunk, too.”

“Just don’t look at it then,” Derek advises, though he’s already moving to grab a dish towel from the drawer.  He’s kind of the poster child for never wanted to see his Emblem, so he can’t _really_ fault Stiles.  Besides, Derek isn’t even hungover and he’s always distracted by how quickly and constantly Stiles’ Emblem changes.  He’s never met anyone whose Emblem shifted  like that--usually a change or two in a lifetime, not a change or two every ten minutes.

“It’s rude to stare, Sourwolf,” Stiles informs him, taking the dish towel Derek offers.  He wraps it around his arm and tucks in the edge so it will stay.  

“I wasn’t staring,” Derek replies, even though he was--involuntarily mesmerized by the shifting lines that are mostly blues and greens today.  

Stiles peeks under the towel a couple of times as he sips his coffee, waiting in the kitchen with Isaac and Derek for waffles to be done.  

“Just take it off if you’re going to look at it anyway,” Derek mutters.

“I’m just curious,” Stiles replies.  “Sometimes it settles on something cool for a little while.  Don’t want to miss it.” He peeks again and then glances over to Derek’s arm.  “Don’t you ever peek?”

“No,” Derek replies sourly.

“Not even _sometimes_.”

“No.” Derek hasn’t so much as stolen a glance in nearly a decade.

“Isaac, you’ve gotta peek at yours, though, right?” Stiles continues.

“Nope.”

“Man, it’d drive me nuts not to--”

“Well, not everybody is as annoying and nosey as you are Stiles,” Isaac interjects.  “Would you just shut up and drink your coffee?”

“Fine,” Stiles replies with a huff.  “You're both such sourwolves.”

“You can always go home,” Isaac reminds.

“Nah, dude,” Stiles replies.  “Not without waffles first.  Don’t be a tease.”

Derek rolls his eyes and starts getting down plates and forks and syrup so they’ll be ready when Isaac's done. because the sooner they’ve eaten the sooner Stiles and his ceaseless conversation can leave. At least, that's what Derek tells himself, but in Stiles' wake the loft suddenly seems oppressively silent, though it's no more quiet than usual. He doesn't mention it out loud,  but Isaac cuts on the radio to fill the silence. Derek wonders if he's the only one who kind of enjoyed the banter over breakfast...and whether it'll happen again anytime soon.


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER 2**

**__________________________________________________________________________**

 

**_Derek_ **

**_********************************_ **

 

Derek lets himself into the back door of his mother’s office.  She works weekends because she says it’s easier to get things done--no phone ringing off the hook or unexpected drop-ins from clients or their worried families.  How she manages to be one of the most successful criminal defense lawyers this side of the Rockies  _ and  _ manage a wolf pack, Derek will never know.  

“Derek? That you?” Mom calls through the empty office space, confirming though she can surely hear the familiar gait and get at least a hint of Derek’s scent by now.  

“Yep. Breakfast,” he replies, making his way down the hall to her personal office.  

“Thank you, sweetie.  You didn’t have to do that,” she says when he deposits the coffee and bagel on her desk.  “Stay and chat with me a while?”

He obliges, plopping into one of the oversized chairs usually reserved for clients who’ve come in for appointments.  

“Everything good with you?” she asks, and he nods.  “Isaac okay?” he nods again.  “Heard from your sister lately? She’s ignoring my calls again.”

“Cora?” Derek assumes since Laura works here with Mom as an associate and still lives at the pack house.  “She sent a text asking to borrow the car a couple days ago,” Derek replies.  “I told her no.”

“She didn’t mention where she planned to  _ take  _ the car, by chance?”

“No.”

“Wonderful,” Mom mutters, taking a sip of the coffee Derek brought.  “Neither of you have been by the house in a while,” she reminds.  “See if you can convince her to come with you to family dinner this Thursday?”

“No promises.”

“You’ll be there, though, won’t you?”

“Yes.”

The monthly family dinners are still one of Derek’s least favorite events.  Sitting for hours surrounded by all the people he loves--who he very nearly managed to get killed---feeling like the undeserving black sheep who shouldn’t have bothered coming.  But Mom wants him there, and it’s the least he can do, given that he avoids pretty much every other pack interaction.  

“Anything interesting?” he wonders with a gesture to the stacks of paperwork scattered across Mom’s desk.

“New case,” she tells him.  “It’s going to be a tough one.  I’m the only one who thinks she’s innocent, and I can’t really say ‘trust me; I’ve got werewolf hearing and his heartbeat is even’ to the jury.”

“You like a challenge,” Derek reminds her.  “I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

“I’d like it to be a little  _ less  _ challenging this time,” she says with a sigh.  “I should get back to work though.  Unless there was something else you wanted to talk about?”

“Nah, just saying ‘hi’,” Derek replies, standing to leave.  “See you Thursday, Mom.”

“Bye, Der.”

  
  


**_Isaac_ **

**_********************************_ **

 

Isaac’s pulling pain from the oldest resident of the vet clinic’s kennel--a lab/hound mix of some kind who had to have her leg amputated after a car wreck--when Scott walks in.  The dog whines a little, sensing the presence of an alpha werewolf, but Isaac shushes her.  

“Still no luck finding her owners?” Scott wonders.

“Oh no, they finally called back this morning,” Isaac replies.  “After almost a month of nothing.  They called to tell us that we should quit calling because it was harassing them.  The assholes told us we shouldn’t have wasted our time ‘cause they don’t have time for her anyway.”

“What?!” Scott says with the same incredulous anger Isaac felt earlier.  

“Yeah, they said we could just euthanize her if we couldn’t find anyone who wanted to take her.”

“No way! This sweetheart?! Who could just leave her?”

“Like I said, assholes,” Isaac mutters.  “Too bad there’s no address in that information from her microchip.  I’d love to pay a little visit and--”

“The important thing is that now she’s gonna live with people who really appreciate her,” Scott interjects, cutting off Isaac’s dark threat.

“What? Who?”

“You, dummy,” Scott says.  “We talked about this.”

“You saying over and over that I should take her home does not mean she’s my dog.  I can’t take care of a dog.”

“Dude, you literally take care of dogs for a living,” Scott says, gesturing to the clinic around them.  

“That’s different.”

“How?”

“Besides, Derek would hate it.”

“Did you even ask?”

“No.”

“So ask!”

“He would hate it.”

“He’d  _ pretend _ to hate it,” Scott counters.  “There’s a difference.  This little sweetie would have Derek wrapped around her paw in no time,” he declares, rubbing her belly in the spot that gets her back leg kicking.  “Wouldn’t you, Cupcake?”

“Ugh--don’t call her that,” Isaac says.  “Those assholes named her that, and she doesn’t even answer to it.”

“Stiles still votes we name her Eileen,” Scott says.  “You know, cause she kinda leans now that she’s only got three legs and all.”

“I get the joke,” Isaac replies dryly.  “You don’t have to explain it every time.”

“Speaking of Stiles,” Scott says.  “Heard he had a pretty shitty night last night.”

“You know it was bad if he was desperate enough to end up begging help from me and Derek,” Isaac says.  

“It’s what you get for living a block from all the best bars,” Scott says.  “And Stiles being notoriously bad about letting his phone die.”

“It wasn’t so bad,” Isaac says.  “We just dumped him on the couch and shoved waffles in his mouth to shut him up this morning.”

“Good thing you wanna be a vet tech and not a nurse.  Your bedside manner sounds a little lacking,” Scott teases.  “Hey, but really though, thanks for looking out for him.”

“Whole point of having a pack, right?” Isaac replies, rolling his eyes.  

“Aw, you actually listened at the last pack meeting.”

“Scott, you talk about the importance of pack being like family at  _ every  _ pack meeting--for  _ years  _ now.”

“It was bound to stick eventually.”  

“You mean brainwash us eventually,” Isaac mutters, but Scott looks a little wounded. “I’m kidding, Scott, you know we all love being in your pack,” Isaac backtracks.  

It’s been almost four years now since Scott presented as the True Alpha of Beacon Hills.  It’s one of the only times in history a pack has separated peacefully.  Without an Alpha like Talia Hale involved it would have never happened at all.  When Peter turned over half a dozen teenagers upon his escape from the psych ward, Talia had taken down her own brother and then brought all the kids into the pack.  It was the first time Isaac ever felt like he had a real family--until the Darach had them all running in circles half out of their minds with spells and poisons.  He’d figured Scott’s transformation to Alpha  was the final nail in the coffin.  That was what all the other packs around seemed to think, too, if the way they all closed in on Beacon Hills like the territory was a juicy steak to be devoured was any indication.

But that didn’t happen.  Scott had more control than any Alpha that new should have.  Talia’s restraint matched.  In the end, what should have been some big showdown was simply Talia putting a hand on Scott’s shoulder, telling her she was very proud of him, and informing her pack that they were all free to choose which Alpha they wanted to follow.  It was a story for the history books, Deaton said.  Morrell was sure it wouldn't last.  But that was four years ago, and Beacon Hills has never been better--supernaturally speaking, anyway.

“I know you’re kidding,” Scott says, though he still looks just a little dejected, and Isaac swears that Scott McCall’s puppy dog eyes of doom are going to be the death of him.  “I probably do push the family thing a lot.  It’s just--ya know--it’s important.”

“Yeah,” Isaac agrees.

_ ‘Cause when we don’t stick together, we’re weak; and when we’re weak packmates die _ , Isaac thinks bitterly, trying to banish thoughts of Boyd and Erica from his mind.

“So I have a huge favor to ask,” Scott says.  

“What?”

“Think you could cover my shift tonight?  Allison and I have a date with Kira.”

“Really? Again?” Isaac says, trying not to let his jealousy bubble to the surface.  Scott and Allison have been waiting to find a compatible third for years--and Isaac had figured if he fit in anywhere, it would be with them.  It’s not Scott’s fault for not seeing Isaac that way.  Maybe Isaac screwed himself over by never taking off the cuff after Boyd and Erica died.  Either way, the fact that Scott and Allison date total strangers, looking for the third Isaac wants to be, always feels like salt on a wound.

“Yeah, the last couple went really well,” Scott says.  “I think it could really work out.”

“That’s--that’s awesome, dude.”

“So you’ll cover my shift?”

“Sure.”

“You’re the  _ best,  _ you know that? I owe you big time.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Isaac dismisses.  “You can catch one of my shifts some other time.”

 

**_Stiles_ **

**_********************************_ **

 

“Who’s the best friend in the whole world?!” Stiles wonders loudly as he bursts into the back room of the clinic bearing take-out from Scott’s favorite Chinese place.  “Hey, you aren’t Scott,” he says just moments later as he realizes who’s actually replenishing food and water in the kennel cages.  

“Nope,” Isaac replies, as he drops a scoop of dry food into the bowl of an overexcited terrier mix who licks his hand happily before diving into the kibble.  “He’s on a date with Allison and Kira.  I’m covering.”

Maybe Stiles is imagining it, but it seems like there's a bit of bitterness in Isaac’s tone.  Whether because of having the extra shift or Scott being on a date, Stiles isn’t quite sure.  He’d have to be blind not to notice the way Isaac looks at Scott.   It used to be objective appreciation--back when Isaac had been with Boyd and Erica.  Now, Stiles catches glimpses of longing; he’s wondered more than once if Isaac took off his cuff whether his Emblem would sync with Scott and Allison.  Of course, Stiles is full of all kinds of theories regarding Emblems, and only about half of them are sound.  For all his research, Stiles still can’t wrap his head around the way it all works, or why even when you want someone more than you’ve wanted anything else---like, maybe hoping that Danny and Lydia finally realize what an ass Jackson is and match up with Stiles instead---Emblems are their own entity, bound to no one’s will or logic.  Just a few basic governing principles--appearance on the dominant hand, only move due to grave injury or scarring, start to appear on your thirteenth birthday.  

The rest is all left to the long-winded hypotheses of people with much more experience in the field than Stiles will ever get, but no solid facts.  It bugs him when there aren’t solid facts; he likes evidence, always has.  Stiles has been bitching about the lack of hard research results surrounding Emblems---more specifically, why the hell his Emblem won’t settle into one design for more than a couple fucking hours--since his ever-shifting Emblem began to form on his thirteenth birthday.   Dad always attributes it to, “the heart wants what it wants and you can’t put rules on those kinds of emotions.”   Stiles is just endlessly frustrated.  

“Do I smell orange chicken?” Isaac wonders, breaking Stiles from his musings.  “From Ming’s?”

“What? Oh, yeah.  I thought I’d come keep Scott company, but--uh--help yourself,” Stiles offers.

“Not back here,” Isaac says, wrinkling his nose.  “I’ll finish up. You dump all the food in the office, and I’ll be there in a sec.”

“Hurry up,” Stiles tells him.   “I make no promises about saving you crab rangoon if you’re slow.”

“I cannot even tell you how  _ not  _ worried I am.  Crab rangoon is--” Isaac doesn’t finish the sentence, just grimaces in clear disgust.

“What. the. hell,” Stiles says in disbelief.  “How can you not like crab rangoon? It’s like the best.  How can I even be friends with someone who doesn’t like crab rangoon?”

“Um, maybe because you’ll never have to worry about sharing it with me?”

“Touche,” Stiles says with a nod.  “I’ve broken up friendships over Rangoon fights you know,” he adds with a smirk.

Isaac rolls his eyes.  “Uh-huh.  I’m sure.  Werewolves, Kanimas, Darachs, Nogitsunes. Those are no big deal.  The  _ real  _ test of friendship is sharing Chinese food.”

“Exactly,” Stiles replies, and Isaac drops his sarcastic look for a smile before he can catch himself.  

“You’re ridiculous,” Isaac tells him.

“But entertaining,” Stiles counters.

“An answer for everything, huh?”

“Always, dude.   _ Always.   _ It’s essential to survival.  Sarcasm is my only defense.” Stiles says, making a haphazard attempt at flexing his bicep---which, while not werewolf standards is still more impressive than the lanky twig of arm muscle he had back when they were in high school. “So I gotta layer on the sarcasm in lieu of actual supernatural talent,” Stiles says with a shrug.  

“You’ve got superhuman powers of annoyance,” Isaac replies.  “Don’t sell yourself short.”

“Fuck off,” Stiles tells him, but he’s still got a good-natured smile on his face.  “Hurry up, though, for real,” Stiles says as he turns to head for the office.  “Food’ll get cold, and nobody wants that.”

“Yeah, be there in a sec,” Isaac replies.

Stiles makes his way to Deaton’s office with the food.  The mahogany desk is as immaculate as ever.  Stiles grabs the stacks of napkins from the takeout bags to act as makeshift potholders and sets out the various cartons of food.  He can never make up his mind at Ming’s.  Everything is good at Ming’s.  Which is why he breaks the bank almost every time he goes and orders a smorgasbord like this.  

For all his talk, Stiles is still a little queasy from the whole antibiotic-induced instant hangover  debacle, so he’s taking it slow.  He decides to just munch on an eggroll.  He stares idly at his Emblem, watching the lines turn from forest green to crimson and curves start to straighten into harsher angles.  They stay that way longer than usual, and Stiles studies the design, trying to decide why it looks familiar, but before he can identify it the Emblem is shifting again, darkening to black and lines going from harsh large angles to some kind of zig-zag pattern.  The shifting lines don’t help his hangover symptoms, so he pulls down the sleeve of his hoodie to cover it.  

Isaac joins him in the office just as he pulls his arm off the desk in frustration.

“Making you dizzy?” Isaac asks. Stiles give him his best withering glare but is surprised to find a more somber and curious expression on his face than Stiles was expecting.

“Not really. It’s always like this. Probably just the leftover effects of last night,” he let a little more of his anger and annoyance with the whole thing slip into the explanation than he had planned. Isaac nods in solidarity while he looks over the various boxes of Chinese.

“Sure you weren’t trying to get enough food for the whole pack?” Isaac wonders as he comes into the office.  

“I couldn’t make up my mind,” Stiles replies with a shrug.  “Sue me.  I eat a lot and I drink a lot. You want free food or not?”

“Just an observation,” Isaac says defensively, helping himself to the broccoli beef.   

“That what you always do?” Isaac asks as he breaks the chopsticks.

“Always do what?” Stiles inquires, though his general irritation with this entire situation gives him a pretty good guess at what Isaac means.

“Get drunk when Scott abandons you for their latest date?”

Isaac says it so calmly that Stiles is 100% sure that Isaac has spent plenty of his own time irritated as fuck with Scott and Allison.

“It’s not always about Scott,” Stiles tries, though it sounds like the most ridiculous lie that has ever come out of his mouth. “The emblem thing makes it super easy to…” Stiles blushes. More than once he’s stared at a couple sitting at the bar, watching their emblems until his is something at least basically compatible. So he’s lonely, so what? It’s almost impossible to change your emblem by force, and it’s dubiously legal to misrepresent it to people. That’s not what Stiles does. Mostly.

Isaac just rolls his eyes at the insinuation, like Stiles didn’t just admit to what many would call disturbing behavior.

“Whatever works for you, man,” Isaac says around a mouthful of eggroll. “It’s gotta be miserable as fuck living with them while they’re dating. I know I couldn’t do it.”

This conversation only reminds him that all Stiles has to go home to their empty apartment and wait for Scott and Allison to tell him about their amazing date. The worst fucking part is that he actually  _ likes  _ Kira. She works well with them. She works well with the pack. She’s also not Stiles.

They sit in silence a few moments more.  Isaac seems to be brooding over something, but Stiles knows better than to bother asking.  The more anyone tries to pry with Isaac, the less they get.  Instead, he pulls out his phone and scrolls idly through news pages, vaguely on the lookout for anything that suggests the supernatural.  

“Hey,” Isaac says finally.  “You think Scott’ll offer Kira a place in the pack?”

Stiles hadn’t been expecting that--not that he ever knows what to expect from Isaac.  

“I--uh--I dunno.  Maybe?”

They used to be a pretty sizeable pack, given what a new Alpha Scott was.  Stiles knows it caused a lot of waves in the Hale pack when so many of them decided to follow Scott.   Stiles was a given, and Alison never really acted as a part of the Hale pack anyway, despite her connection to Scott.  But when Isaac, Erica, Boyd, and even Malia followed Scott too, suddenly Scott had a big enough pack to look like a legitimate threat, no matter how young and inexperienced they all were.  But then Malia left looking for answers about her mother--a freedom Talia had never allowed.  And when the Alpha Pack came looking to take over the territory surrounding Beacon Hills and all the supernatural powers that accompany it, they’d lost Erica, and then Boyd.

They haven’t offered anyone else a spot since.  Scott says he doesn’t know how to do that without feeling like he’s trying to replace them.  

“Would you want him to?” Stiles wonders, pressing for more insight into Isaac’s thoughts about the issue.

Isaac shrugs and reaches for an eggroll, avoiding all eye contact.  “I trust Scott,” he replies finally.

“That’s not what I asked.”

“I know,” Isaac mutters.

“Yeah, not sure how I feel about all that either,” Stiles admits. “Rocking the boat and all that.  I don’t know Kira that well though.   Maybe she’d be good for the pack.”

“Scott and Allison deserve to find their third person,” Isaac adds.  

“But she’s not the only person who could be compatible.  Plenty of fish in the sea and all.  If she comes just for Scott, and it turns out they misread the Emblems, or their Emblems weren’t as settled as they thought, that’ll be awkward as fuck.”

Isaac nods, but he doesn’t offer further commentary.  Stiles debates pushing farther but decides to let it go.  Asking about Isaac’s feelings for Scott and Allison would more than likely just lead to retorts about Stiles’ embarrassingly endless pining to be the third for Lydia and Danny--if they ever wake the hell up and realize what a complete asshat Jackson is.  Maybe the best course of option for keeping this dinner chill is to just change the subject altogether.

“So how’s Eileen?” Stiles wonders.

“That’s not her name,” Isaac reminds, clearly annoyed.

“Oh, come on.  You’ve gotta admit it’s better than  _ Cupcake. _ Cupcake makes her sound like a little yappy purse dog.”

“Eileen is a constant pun on the fact that she was in a horrible accident, you sociopath.”

“Never forget what you are, for surely the world will not. Make it your strength. Then it can never be your weakness. Armour yourself in it, and it will never be used to hurt you,” Stiles quotes sagely.

“You watch too much Game of Thrones,” Isaac replies.  

“You watch enough to know what I’m quoting,” Stiles points out.  

“She’s doing really well actually,” Isaac informs.

“Then why do you look all pouty?”

“She’s pretty much healed.  She doesn’t need a vet’s care, so a shelter would do.”

“Oh, that sucks.  Can’t she just stay and be the mascot or something?”

“Scott actually pitched that exact idea to Deaton.  No luck.”

“You should take her,” Stiles says.  “She loves you.”

“I can’t just get a dog.  Our lives are way too complicated for shit like that,” Isaac protests, but there’s no  _ real  _ conviction behind the assertion.

“She can roll with the punches pretty well I bet,” Stiles says.  “Plus, if she goes to a shelter there’s no guarantee about the kind of people who adopt her.  You’d at least know she’s loved if you take her.  If it really doesn’t work out, you could take her to a shelter later.  Give her a trial period.”

“It’s not really my place. It’s Derek’s.  He--”

“I have never seen a man in my life who needs to have some adorable puppy cuddles soften him around the edges.  It’ll be doing Derek a favor.”

“He won’t see it that way.”

“Maybe not,” Stiles says with a shrug.  “But something to think about?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

Stiles grins.   He can usually tell when he’s won a debate, and he’s pretty sure this is one of those times.  Scott has said for weeks how awesome Isaac’s been with Eileen.  Maybe he just needed a nudge in the right direction.

“You ever seen Die Hard?” Stiles asks, hoping to throw off any suspicion from Isaac about Stiles’ newly forming plans for Eileen. Isaac shakes his head “no” in reply as he sits back in the visitor’s chair with his mixed rice and chopsticks.

“What do you mean you’ve never seen Die Hard. It’s a classic!” Stiles exclaims. “Derek’s never made you watch it?”

Isaac raises an eyebrow. “You think Derek’s seen it either? He didn’t even have a TV until I moved in.” He stabs his chopsticks back into his carton. “Besides, he’s way more of a PBS kind of guy,” Isaac says it with such easy, annoying fondness that Stiles laughs despite his bitter mood.

“Downton Abbey?” Stiles asks incredulously. He can’t believe it. Derek looks like he just stepped out of Die Hard 90% of the time. He’s also never really had the occasion to see Derek looking or acting like anything but the badass, hardass werewolf that he’s always been.

“Downton Abbey,” Isaac replies with a conspiratorial smile. “And if you ever tell anyone, I’ll probably have to mercy kill you to save you from Derek,” Isaac adds fangs into his grin at the end of the statement, and Stiles’ heart skips a beat. He knows Isaac can hear it, so Stiles picks up his own chopsticks in response and shovels some crab rangoon into his mouth.

After a few minutes of smug silence on Isaac’s part, Stiles can’t keep the quiet up. It’s too awkward for him, and the calm relaxed posture of Isaac across the desk is driving him nuts.

“So, what other deep dark domestic secrets does Derek have besides a waffle maker?”

Isaac looks up from his carton and deadpans, “Slippers. Light blue memory foam slippers.”

“No.” Stiles is far too delighted by this information.

“Yes,” Isaac replies.

  
  
  


**_Isaac_ **

**_********************************_ **

 

Isaac’s phone rings at some ungodly hour the next morning with Scott’s name on the caller ID.  Derek’s side is cold, and he’s disoriented until he remembers that Derek’s out on the preserve with a couple of biologists and an infectious fungus expert. He didn’t disappear. Isaac rubs at his face and wills his heart to calm as he sits up and answers, "Hey, What's wrong?"

     "Dude, you're adopting her!?"

      "What?! Adopting who?"

      "Eileen!"

      "What're you talking about?"

      "I got to work this morning and she's got a tag on her collar.  It says 'Eileen' and it's got all your contact info on it. Why didn't you tell me?"

      "Because I didn't buy that tag."

      "Then who?" Scott wonders.

     "I don't know. I--" As Isaac's brain finally wakes up, the dots connect. "I'm gonna  _ kill  _ Stiles!"

Stiles doesn't answer his calls. After the third unanswered call in a row, Stiles just sends a text that says, "you're welcome. Look out in the hall." Out in the hall is a basket of everything Isaac could need to bring Eileen and a post-it note that says, “you got this," in what Isaac assumes is Stiles' messy handwriting.  Isaac leaves to go to the clinic and take that damn tag off before anyone else sees it.

   But when he gets there, all it takes is one more look at Eileen's big brown eyes, thrilled to see him, and Isaac knows that Stiles has given him the shove he needed to get here.

     "Whatcha say, girl?" Isaac asks. "Wanna take your risks coming home to live with werewolves?"

    As if she understands the question, Eileen nuzzles his hand and lunges up to lick Isaac's face.  Isaac thinks maybe he won’t kill Stiles, after all.  He might just end up having to thank him.  
  


  



	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

 

**_Derek_ **

**_*********************_ **

 

Isaac calls when Derek’s halfway through a bowl of Reese’s Puffs, thinking idly of the first time Stiles’ rambling brain asked if some werewolves were as sensitive to chocolate as dogs.  

_ Not that I’m calling you a dog, dude,  _ he’d clarified, eye wide as he processed how the question probably sounded.   _ Totally one hundred percent not calling you a dog just--ya know--trying to figure out how to keep my best friend from getting killed and not that Scott’s got a major sweet tooth but there’s enough stuff trying to kill him without him poisoning himself and helping them out so… _

Derek had let him ramble a few minutes more, still amazed back then that anyone could ramble as much as Stiles Stilinski, before informing Stiles that no, werewolves were not overly sensitive to chocolate, and even if they were--there probably wasn’t enough real chocolate in Reese’s Puffs to do any harm.

Derek’s pulled from the memory when his phone vibrates with an incoming call from Isaac.  

“Hey, buy milk on your way home,” he says.

“Um, can’t,” Isaac replies.  

“I’ll get it later. It’s fine.  Everything okay?” 

“Yes?”

“Isaac…”

“Just don’t kill me, okay? It’s Stiles’ fault.  If there’s going to be any maiming, it should be Stiles.” 

“Isaac, what’d Stiles talk you into this time?!”

“I--um--well--you’ll hear soon enough.”

“Hear soon enough?”

“Uh-huh.  See you soon; don’t be pissed,” Isaac finishes, abruptly ending the call before Derek can reply. 

“Hear soon enough?” Derek repeats to himself.  “Literally, or a bad news call from someone or--”

Before he can finish his musing, Isaac’s faint voice reaches his ears.

“That’s it; good girl; come on.”

It’s followed by a stuttered kind of gallop, the sound of nails on the hardwood floor of the hall downstairs, and the unmistakable jingling of an ID tag.

“He adopted that damn dog!” Derek realizes.  “You are  _ so dead _ !” he yells, knowing full well Isaac can hear.  “You didn’t even  _ ask _ ?! HOW did you think you were going to pawn this off on Stiles?”

“It was his idea,” Isaac’s voice replies, barely audible from this distance.  “And--well--I’m a sucker.”

“I’m not,” Derek replies as he hears Isaac ascending the second set of stairs with the three-legged imposter.   “We don’t have time for a dog, Isaac.”

“She’s super low maintenance; she’s even house trained already.  It’s gonna be fine.”

“Isaac--” Derek continued to protest.

But then the heavy metal door lurches open, and in walks Isaac preceded by a clearly exhausted but thrilled three-legged canine.  She’s got long floppy ears that flap when she walks, because she doesn’t walk so much as she--well, she kind of moves like a seal, maybe because she’s so long--and fuck her, legs are way too short for her body.  She’s the most ridiculous-looking and yet absolutely adorable thing Derek’s maybe ever seen.  He knows instantly that he’s going to lose this argument.

“Isaac, we can’t,” Derek protests.

“A week,” Isaac says.  “Look how excited she is, Derek; I can’t take her right back to Deaton’s.  Just--just give it a week and if you totally hate having her here then--then we’ll figure out something else.”

Derek hopes the frown he’s giving is more convincing that it feels.  “Fine,” he agrees.  “One week. And she’s  _ your  _ responsibility.”

“Yeah, totally, I’ll take care of everything; I swear.”

“You’re going to have to carry her up and down the stairs. No way she makes it on her own.”

“I know,” Isaac says, but he’s way too happy watching the dog leap-seal-hop whatever her way around the living room to pay attention to Derek.

  
  


**_*********************_ **

  
  


Derek

**_*********************_ **

 

Thursday arrives far too soon for his liking, just like every other Thursday of his life for the past ten years. Isaac’s here because it’s the first Thursday of the month, as he reluctantly agreed to about six weeks into their current living arrangement. Isaac sits mostly silent next to him, and he’s more than well aware how much Isaac hates this. He’s never openly said anything to Derek about it, but Derek suspects that’s because Isaac knows he’s suffering just as much.

As if the universe could hear Derek’s own miserable thoughts, his mother turns to Isaac and asks point blank, “How’s Scott doing? Well, I hope.”

Most of the time Derek is fine being in the Hale pack without Isaac, but he knows his mother always brings it up more urgently than usual whenever Isaac forces himself through to door to endure dinner with them.

“He’s fine,” Derek interrupts before Isaac can reply. He feels Isaac deflate slightly next to him, though from relief or irritation Derek can’t divine from his peripheral vision. He’s too busy trying to tell Talia to  _ drop it  _ with his eyes before they wind up with a repeat of six months ago.

“That’s excellent, son, but I didn’t ask you. I asked Isaac. Isaac, Scott’s told me he’s close to finding his third. A kitsune even, which I know his, well  _ your _ pack will appreciate. Do you like her?” If Derek could stab himself with a fork and cause enough real damage to get them out of this dinner, he would. Instead, the rest of the family carries on their innocuous conversation while Isaac’s interrogated.

“If you have business with the McCall pack, seek out the Alpha instead of treating Isaac like a messenger.” He knows it doesn’t really bother Isaac on a surface level to be a messenger for the McCall pack, but Derek has to live with the aftermath of interrogations like these for the next two weeks. Isaac’s kind enough to essentially live between two packs, and he’s got enough loyalty to take care of Derek and commit to Scott, but it takes a toll that Derek wishes Isaac didn’t have to endure. 

A big part of Derek wishes that he could just be selfless enough to let Isaac go, but he knows he needs another soul in the industrial, clinical catalog picture of his apartment if he’s going to survive. There’s no one else that could put up with Derek the way Isaac does on a day to day basis, in small ways that Derek knows Isaac doesn’t even realize. 

“Kira’s great,” Isaac replies as he ignores Derek’s warning to his mother. He even sounds happy about it, which shocks Derek. Isaac and Derek only live together because they’re generally not stable enough to be alone. There’s plenty of companionship, but Derek’s under no illusions that Isaac would disappear to Scott’s side if he ever gave a hint of wanting Isaac. Allison and Scott are kind and wonderful people, but their cluelessness towards Isaac’s feelings adds a layer of surliness to Derek’s interactions with the neighboring pack.

“Really?” Derek sounds shocked before he can school his reaction, which earns him a withering look from Isaac. Great.

“Yes, really,” Isaac says to Derek more than to Talia. He continues to his mother, “She’s got amazing martial arts skills, and Allison absolutely loves having a practice partner that’s less…” Isaac pauses, and Derek knows he’s looking for a way to be delicate about the situation. “Less canine,” Isaac concludes. It's a point of contention that the neighboring alpha is in a relationship with a human, and a former hunter to boot, and even more contentious that Allison doesn’t hide her past. 

Talia gives Isaac a fanged grin, which he returns. Despite the awkwardness between the two packs, for some inexplicable reason, Isaac and Talia became incredibly close the day Isaac moved into Derek’s apartment. He doesn’t always understand it, but he’s glad that Isaac’s easy going enough to accept Talia’s constant attempts to fold him into the Hale pack. Isaac’s only had one wolfed out fight with Derek about loyalty and love and where his devotions lay. Derek lays his free hand on Isaac’s thigh as they continue to chat about Isaac’s life over the past month. Derek knows he’s lucky to have Isaac fill in all the silence where Derek’s concerned, and at least once a month the pack dinners are a little easier to bear. Isaac’s hand slips down to squeeze his as his mother switches subjects to their joint admiration of Derek’s work with the Beacon Hills forestry department. 

“Derek was just telling me a few days ago that the trees by the bank of the Preserve’s river are almost completely dead.”

“Is that so?” Talia inquires, her interest sharp. Though the preserve had been traditional Hale Pack land for centuries, Talia gracefully ceded a small section of the Preserve and its surrounding unprotected mountains to the McCall pack. The river is still Hale property, but Scott’s “no one really owns the earth” attitude has allowed for a beneficial partnership, and for Derek to keep his job with the national parks and forestry services.

“I’ll let you know if it seems to be spreading, but as far as I can tell, it’s rot from the flash floods.” The general humidity of the past summer had caused several issues in the preserve, from lightning fires to root rot among the trees close to the river. “Nothing supernatural,” Derek assures. It’s what he wants to believe, and he doesn’t have a reason to think otherwise. At least for now. His mother understands the implication behind the words and nods quickly. 

“I hope not,” She replies. They’ve moved into an era of peace and calm with the nemeton that everyone has been blessedly relieved to enjoy.

“Did Derek tell you we got a dog?” Isaac says, and Laura breaks away from her conversation with their father at the news.

“He let you bring a dog into that immaculate apartment?” Laura says gleefully. “Man, Derek must really love you,” she jokes. 

Derek rolls his eyes and gives thanks whatever deity is out there that he’s had years and years to practice keeping his reactions under control near a pack of werewolves. Isaac is not nearly as prepared and launches into a passionate defense of just how sweet and wonderful  _ his  _ dog is only a few days into living with her.

“Derek only uses her as a footrest, he doesn’t even have to carry her down the stairs,” Isaac explains to Laura.

“Carry her down the stairs?” his dad interrupts with a charmed look in his eyes. “You live on the fifth floor of Derek’s building and you carry her?” Isaac blushes in response.

“It's not her fault she’s only got three legs and no one else wanted her,” Isaac tries to give a calm, deadpan response, but everyone else at the table can hear just how upset Isaac is by their joking. 

“Eileen’s a great dog,” Derek grudgingly admits, mostly to save Isaac from getting himself into further good-natured mockery from his family. Isaac gives him a look that means he’s in for it once they get home tonight, though whether that’s a good thing or a bad thing Derek couldn’t say at this point.

“I’m sure she’s very sweet, I’ll have to come by and say hello,” Talia says in a soft voice, decisively turning the conversation back into safer waters. “Does she have a name yet?”

“Eileen,” Isaac grumbles to his lap, and Laura has to excuse herself from the table as she wipes tears of laughter from her eyes.

 

Isaac

**_*********************_ **

 

Isaac’s dutifully helping with all of the dishes from tonight’s lasagna, glad for the excuse to be out of the main conversation going on in the living room. Despite the protests every month that the guests shouldn’t have to do the cleaning up, he would much rather be scraping off blackened cheese from the edge of a glass dish than facing Hale Pack business. 

It’s weird being here, honestly. He knows that Talia would love to have him in the pack, and she’s made it incredibly clear that he would be welcome. Isaac feels welcome, but Derek and Scott cloud his thoughts on the matter so regularly that he’s never sure how he feels about it anymore. If Kira accepts the invitation to the pack, he doesn’t know how long he’ll be able to stay. Every pack meeting he feels like the extra, the last piece that never fits. But he’s not sure it would honestly be any different in the Hale pack, a family first, a pack of natural born werewolves second.

“-think about it, won’t you Der-” he can hear Talia entreat her son from the living room. Most of the time the family communicates softly since Isaac isn’t part of the pack and he can hear everything just a well as the rest of them. It must be serious if Isaac can hear it on the other side of the house while the water is running over the dishes.

“Are you insane? He’d never agree,” Derek sounds incensed, which means they’re likely to be leaving soon. Watching Derek and his family interact is like watching two opposing magnets being forced together, stubbornly repellant of each other. Isaac casts a glance to the dirty dishes still waiting for him on the counter. Part of him, the part he often tries to ignore, urges him to hurry up and finish. A bigger part of him, the part that’s at home with the Hales, that loves watching Derek wander around their apartment and take care of the chores from time to time, knows that no one will care if he doesn’t finish the dishes when they're back at home.

The panic rises anyways, and he abandons the glass lasagne dish as a lost cause. He might as well just finish, only looking up from the methodical work when Derek touches his shoulder lightly.

“Sorry,” Derek says as he pulls Isaac’s hands from the sink.

“I’m fine,” Isaac replies, realizing that he’s scratched four fine gouges in the back of the plate. “Fuck,” he states to the dishwasher. It appears that most of them have made it into the machine unscathed.

“Let’s go home and get drunk,” Derek says in response. More often than not, Derek returns home earlier than expected with a large bottle of wolfsbane vodka to share. Isaac’s always more than happy to indulge.

 

Stiles

**_*********************_ **

 

By the time Stiles makes it up the fourth flight of industrial stairs, he can already hear the explosions ringing. He bangs on the metal door to Derek and Isaac’s apartment, but no one answers.

“Hey assholes,” he yells over the TV as he lets himself in. “What in the fuck-”

Derek and Isaac are laughing to each other on their fancy leather couch, so hard that they’re crying. Live Free or Die Hard is on the massive flatscreen, with no one but Eileen paying it any mind.

“What’s so funny about-” Stiles begins, until he refocuses himself on the original purpose for this visit. As far as he can tell, Eileen is still alive. Scott and Allison are out again with Kira, so instead of choosing one of the bars for tonight’s entertainment, he thought he’d go check in on the three-legged adorable-ness that is Eileen.

“I see Isaac hasn’t killed you through neglect, and Derek hasn’t tossed you out of the window, so it’s going pretty well, huh girl?”

Eileen looks away from Die Hard for a few seconds, sneezes in Stiles’ direction, and returns to her intense engagement with the film. After a minute of further investigation, Stiles realizes that she’s comfortably enthroned on a dark brown memory foam dog bed. He’s glad she’ll be well loved here. As much as Stiles loves her, there’s no way she would have lasted in Allison’s, Scott’s, and his apartment. There’s barely enough space for the three of them, even thinking about throwing in a handicapped dog makes him feel claustrophobic. 

“Stiiiilllles” Isaac says, breaking him from his thoughts.

“Woooaahh are you two drunk,” Stiles smiles in reply. Derek’s curled up next to Isaac, resting on his chest, and Stiles’ own heart aches. It’s great that they have each other, but now it only serves to remind Stiles that the best thing he had to do on a Thursday evening is to check up on his friends’ dog. He invites himself to watch the rest of the movie as he flops down in the overstuffed dark leather chair.

“Why is everything in here so dark?” Stiles asks the room. He glances over to the coffee table’s array of empty cracker boxes and vodka bottles and doesn’t expect an answer.

“Leather’s durable,” Derek says to Isaac’s shoulder, and Isaac nods sagely before bursting out into more laughter. Derek follows into hysterics, and they’re back to the same state they were in when Stiles arrived a few minutes ago.

“I didn’t think you two’d be happy drunks, honestly,” Stiles says, only slightly bitter that he hasn’t had the opportunity to experience the two most stoic friends he has at their most ridiculous.

“We-we- we’re not” Isaac struggles out, and Derek bursts out into a new round of laughter.

“Oh yeah?” Stiles asks as he leaves for the kitchen. He’d love to get drunk, but he doesn’t have werewolf hangover avoidance, and he does have work at the library tomorrow. He finds a can of coke in the shiny fancy refrigerator and leans on the island counter top to watch the two of them.

Derek looks suddenly serious as he peers over the couch.

“Want to hear something ridiculous?”

“Always,” Stiles replies, since Derek’s never said anything ridiculous, or even in the realm of entertaining to Stiles.

“My mother, Talia Hale, Alpha of the Hale Pack,” Isaac drunkenly snickers at Derek’s mock seriousness, “Would like to formally ally with the McCall pack.”

“Ridiculous,” Stiles sarcastically agrees. There’s a signed contract somewhere in their tiny apartment that attests to the alliance between the two packs. Stiles scooped it up years ago before Scott could lose it.

“Formally ally,” Derek continues, “By marrying Isaac.” 

Stiles inhales his coke, burning his throat and lungs with the carbonation. “The two of you? Only two?” he coughs out. He’s not drunk enough for this.

Isaac lets out another howl of laughter, reaching sloppily for the coffee table to find more booze. Stiles leaves his coke on the kitchen counter and returns to the fridge to find something both alcoholic and friendly to humans. 

He sits down with a half full Kinky Pink bottle, which he hopes Derek and Isaac will be way too drunk to remember tomorrow morning. The only person who could have left a Kinky Pink liquor bottle in their fridge had to have been Laura, or Cora as a sick joke. Regardless, it tastes good and gets the job done.

“Seriously, just the two of you?” Stiles asks about an hour later and much drunker. They’ve ostensibly been watching the movie, but honestly, they’ve just progressed further and further along the intoxicated scale. “No one just gets married to a partner. Wait- do you two even…” Stiles isn’t exactly sure of the arrangement between Isaac and Derek. No one in the McCall pack has been brave, or stupid enough to ask if Derek and Isaac would ever formally seek out a third to complete them.

“Do we what?” Derek asks, but his eyes are closed. He looks like he’s about to pass out, so Stiles figures he definitely won’t remember him asking. “Do you even want a third?” Stiles asks, drunk enough to imply that Derek and Isaac are their own thing. 

Isaac takes a sip out of the plastic cup and glances over at Derek. The two of them are past their happy-drunk stage, and Stiles wishes he hadn’t been so blunt, since it appears that they’ve never had this conversation on their own.

“Because I mean,” Stiles charges on, unable to handle the oppressive awkwardness in the air, “No one just gets married anymore. Wouldn’t you guys, like, need another? Person?”

“You volunteering?” Isaac sneers. The situation abruptly loses all levity.

“No, you two won’t even look at your own emblems. Pretty fucked up thing you’d have to explain to a third, and who the hell’s gonna blindly volunteer so...”

“So  _ what? _ ” Derek growls, and Stiles pushes back into the chair. Why did he decide that getting drunk with two very dangerous and repressed werewolves was a good idea? This was a terrible idea.“It’s none of your goddamn business if we want to keep those bullshit marks cover---

Isaac slams his palm over Derek’s chest as he tries to advance on Stiles.

“Sit the fuck down, honey.” The statement drips with acid as Isaac’s hand grabs Derek’s gray t-shirt and effectively pulls him back down to the couch in a move that looks much easier than it probably was.

“I think Stiles was about to say ‘so fucked up’.” He calmly looks at Stiles as he takes another sip and Derek simmers. Isaac’s hand is still bunched up in the grey fabric. “I mean,” Isaac supposes, “It is, pretty fucked up. There’s only the two of us, I’m not even in the Hale pack. It’d be a miserable shit-show, nothing but an alliance and peace of mind for the Hales. Isn’t that right, Derek?” Derek relaxes a few inches, and his fists unclench. His bright blue eyes fade back to their regular ridiculous hazel rainbow, and Stiles’ heart returns to his chest from his throat.

“Right,” Derek agrees, and looks more contrite about his reaction than Stiles had ever expected. Like he almost regrets being the hardass, badass, terrifying werewolf that he always is around Stiles, or any of the McCall pack members for that matter. “You wouldn’t be a miserable-shitshow,” Derek confesses to Isaac quietly, and Isaac smiles back at Derek’s dopily drunk smile. Stiles’ heart starts pounding in sickness for a completely different reason this time. He doesn’t need to see this after almost being torn to shreds.

“You wouldn’t be a miserable shit-show either,” Isaac agrees as he leans to rest against Derek’s shoulder. Stiles desperately wishes to be anywhere but here.

“He’s still freaking out,” Derek observes to Isaac. Isaac nods. 

“Only question is, is his heartbeat racing because  you were about to take his throat out with your teeth---or because we’re suggesting an arranged marriage suggested by your  _ mother  _ and while you said I wouldn’t be such a shitshow--”   

“I just--look, this has been really-” Stiles interrupts, catching himself before he says ‘nice’. Isaac snorts.  

“Jury’s still out on Stiles though,” he continues, words slurred. and Derek smiles and nods. “He could be a miserable shit-show.”

Stiles does his best to return his heartbeat to normal.  He really  _ really  _ doesn’t know how the hell to react to any of this.  Normally they’re a big happy group when they’re all drunk, but there’s no Scott here to balance out the brooding.  Just vaguely angry, aggressive Derek and Isaac, who Stiles can read fine sober but is starting to be a little wary of while drunk.  He thinks of leaving--but he’s too drunk to stand up and flee the apartment--and it’s probably an overreaction anyway.  Maybe if he just doesn’t let them get to him with the comments about being a triad, that get his drunk libido spiking when he’s looking at two gorgeous men in front of him and it’s been a  _ long  _ time since he had any kind of--

“I think he’s getting better now,” Derek tries to whisper to Isaac, but they’re both too drunk to realize they’re talking at normal volume.  “Almost normal heartbeat.”

“Stop doing that,” Stiles complains, glad to have something else to talk about. Anything but pack business and alliances and marriages and being torn to pieces by drunk werewolves.

“What? Calling you a miserable shit-show? You probably wouldn’t be that bad,” Derek admits. Isaac looks close to falling asleep, but he nods in agreement. “Not tha’ bad” he agrees.

“I meant about listening in, checking in on my ‘well-being,’ stop doing that,” Stiles tries to add the appropriate air quotes, but his arms feel dangerously detached when he makes the attempt. “I don’t need a babysitter.”

“Good, ‘cause we’re drunk,” Derek replies.  

“I’m just gonna--” Stiles starts, attempting to get to his feet, but the whole world lurches so he sits back down with a miserable groan.

“D’you think he’s going to puke?” Derek asks, and Isaac shakes his head, “Nah.”

“I’m sitting right here you assholes,” Stiles says with no venom. Watching Isaac nod off has given Stiles his own excellent inspiration. Sleeping, more specifically, sleeping in this chair in this spacious apartment with an adorable dog, would be a great idea.

“When did Stiles get ‘wolf hearing?” Derek says to Isaac, and Stiles just rolls his eyes. It’s a mistake, and the ceiling spins. He closes his eyes in response to it.

“Look he’s just gonna pass out right there,” Stiles hears bits and pieces of a conversation, but his body’s demand to sleep is too strong to ignore.

“-Move him?”

“What if we drop-”

“We could just-”

The last thing Stiles remembers is a shock of soft coldness and Isaac’s voice saying too loudly “Shhhhhh, go back to sleep” before he permanently passes out for the night.   


	4. Chapter 4

**Derek**

*****************

_ “So she’s a little older than us,” Paige says with a shrug.  “It’s not like it’s unheard of, Der.  That’s the whole point of emblems, right? They help expedite the process.  We’ve been looking for a third for like a million years!” _

_ “Or--ya know--just six months,” Derek counters, rolling his eyes.   _

_ “Is it so bad to think we might be able to nail down the missing piece and live happily ever after?” she asks, sitting on the edge of the bed and taking Derek’s  hand.  “I mean this is fun enough with just the two of us,” she says, turning to straddle his lap, “but imagine if we added a third,” she whispers against his ear.   _

_ “Mmmm,” he agrees.  “You really think it’s her?” _

_ “I think it could be.  Her emblem is almost a perfect match; you saw it yourself.  Just a few missing lines and a little darker shade of blue.  It’s so close.” _

_ “I just get this weird vibe from Kate,” Derek says between kisses.  “It’s not as easy as--as it’s always been with you. _

_ “Well, we’re perfect matches,” Paige reminds, leaning into Derek until he lays back on the bed.  “That level of awesome doesn’t happen every day.” _

_ “Nope.” _

_ “Just ‘cause she’s not a perfect match doesn’t mean Kate isn’t compatible.  She wants to go out with us tonight.  Please? Let’s just give it a try?” _

_ The weight of Paige on top of Derek vanishes, and she’s standing upright beside the bed, pale except for the deep crimson gash along her neck, wearing the pale pink dress they buried her in--the one she was supposed to wear for her senior recital.  _

_ “No,” Derek protests, all too familiar with the conversation about to come.   “No, Paige, don’t!” _

_ “You should have said something, Derek,” she accuses.  “You should have listened to that instinct that told you something was wrong with Kate Argent.  You were the one with heightened senses.  You’re the one who's supposed to be able to hear lies and smell deception.  You should have protected me!” _

_ “I just--I wanted you to be happy, and you wanted to find our third and--” Derek protests feebly.  _

_ “You wanted to be happy?” she scoffs.  “How happy do you think I was choking on my own blood, Derek? How happy was I to die before we even graduated high school?” _

_ “Paige, please--” _

_ “It’s your fault, Derek,” she rages, crossing over to him in an instant, shaking Derek’s shoulders. “You should have protected me--should have protected your family.  Thank God for your mother or your whole fucking pack would have gone up in flames because you were too stupid to recognize the psychotic, murderous, pyromaniac who was weaseling her way into your life.” _

“Shut up, Paige!” Derek demands, gripping at the hand that’s still shaking him.  

“Derek, it’s me,” Isaac says as Derek slowly takes in his surroundings, “Need you to wake up.  Think Stiles is dying?”

“What?!” Derek replies, rising from the bed too quickly and realizing that he’s not entirely sober just yet.   __

“Not really dying, just sick, but I think I’m gonna--gonna--yup,” Isaac says, fleeing toward the closest bathroom, which is, unfortunately, Derek’s. Eileen hops after him with a whine of concern.  Derek has just a split second to reflect on what a good dog she seems to be before the sound of Stiles violently retching comes from out in the living room.

_ Fucking great,  _ Derek thinks.   _ At least they’re both too far gone to notice if I start puking with them. _  He takes solace in the idea of getting to goad them about this tomorrow as he trods out in the living room to see what state Stiles is in. 

  
  


**Stiles**

*****************

 

Stiles wakes to a truly desperate need to pee, but firm hands on his shoulders stop him from rising off the--- _ couch?--not my couch...whose couch? _

He takes in Derek’s surly face just a few inches from his own before it registers that Derek’s pushing Stiles’ head toward a small trashcan.

“Don’t get up.  Just aim for the trash can,” Derek tells him.

“Not gonna puke.”

“Sure you’re not,” Derek agrees, in a tone that says that ship has clearly already sailed.

“I have to  _ pee  _ so unless you want me to do  _ that  _ in a trashcan in your living room, let go!” Stiles insists, brushing Derek’s grip away.  The room spins for a moment but rights itself soon enough--he’s mostly sober now it seems.  Halfway on his careful but hurried trip to the bathroom, Stiles realizes that he’s only wearing boxers--and he’s pretty sure they aren’t even  _ his  _ boxers--and a dish towel wrapped around his Emblem again.  

“What the fuck?” he mutters.  “What the hell happened last night?”

“Everything okay in there?” Isaac yells, at Stiles winces at the noise.

“Yup,” he replies, finishing up and washing his hands to emerge and wonder, “what happened to my clothes?”

“They’re in the dryer now,” Isaac replies with a grimace.  “You went full exorcist last night, dude.”

“No--but I--I had a little bit of the kinky liquor but--I wasn’t that drunk when I got here and I--”

“Yeah, that’s my bad,” Isaac said.  “It’s Alison’s stash from that housewarming we had when I moved in forever ago--she mixes in vodka to give it a kick, half and half.  Little stronger than you were expecting probably?”

“Uh-huh.”

_ I didn’t eat much yesterday either.  And no sleep.  Perfect storm. Great. _

“So two for two on the embarrassing drunken escapades lately,” Stiles says as they chuckle at his pain.  “Great.”

“I was going to make waffles again,” Isaac offers.  “Unless you’re gonna keep puking.”

“I think I’m solid.  My mouth tastes like something died in it though.  Water?” he requests, and Isaac obliges by handing him a bottle from the fridge.  Eileen waits hopefully by the fridge with a pleading look to Isaac--as if she doesn’t have already have a whole bowl of high-quality kibble out at all times if she gets hungry.

“God, I forgot how shitty human hangovers are,” Isaac says, clearly amused at Stiles’ expense, though Isaac looks a little worse for wear too.  

“I hate you,” Stiles informs. 

“Hey, Stiles wasn’t the only one doing an exorcist impression last night,” Derek says with a smirk as Isaac starts heating up the griddle for breakfast.

“Oh really? Stiles wonders with a judgy glance to Isaac.

“Okay, it was not  _ that  _ bad,” Isaac counters defensively.  “I made it to the bathroom at least--and it was just  _ once _ .”

“I’m just gonna curl in a ball and die now,” Stiles says, capping the water bottle and laying back down on the couch; he isn’t sure if he’s going to die from embarrassment or the physical misery but either way, sweet nothingness sounds great.

“Don’t die on my couch,” Derek tells him.  “I gotta deal with enough bullshit without adding dead bodies to the day.” 

Stiles snorts a laugh remembering the conversation from last night, “Yeah, like your mom trying to play matchmaker.”

“Shut up.”

“Hoping I forgot that bit, huh?” Stiles supposes.  “Also, jury is  _ not  _ still out, I would  _ not  _ be a miserable shit show part of a triad, thank you very much, you asshole,” Stiles declares, although pretty much  _ all  _ of his limited experience looking for triads to fit into would suggest just the opposite.

“Well, by the looks of you right now…” Derek quips back.

“You’re the worst.  Both of you,” Stiles says before whining, “Oh my God just knock me unconscious and let me sleep this shit off.”

“We’ve had this conversation before,” Derek says.  “I’m not explaining that to Scott.”

“OHmygodScott,” Stiles groans.  “We are  _ not  _ telling Scott about this.  Got that? The last thing I need or want is another soul-felt lecture about how “alcohol isn’t the answer to my problems” and if I drink myself to death I’ll never meet my triad anyway and there are healthy ways to cope with stress.  And I swear to God last time he even got Allison and Kira to back him up for the speech and I just---ugh--I am either too sober or too hungover for this conversation.  Where are waffles? I was promised waffles,” he finishes in a pout.

“I didn’t promise you waffles,” Isaac corrects from over behind the kitchen bar.  “I just said I was making them.”

“You’re not evil enough to leave a poor, hungover human with no sustenance, are you?” Stiles whines.

“I’ll feed you if you’ll be quiet for two seconds,” Isaac offers.  “My head is killing me.”

“Good trade,” Stiles says.  He doesn’t mean to drift off to sleep in the ensuing silence, but he’s curled up on the couch and it really is a very comfy couch.  Plus Eileen jumps up to curl up in the available space at his feet, which makes them all warm and toasty, and the blanket one of them must have laid over him last night is here to be cuddled under.  So  the next thing he knows Derek’s saying sharply, “You gonna wake up to eat or not? ‘Cause Eileen’s eyeing your plate.”

“Yeah, I’m up,” Stiles replies.  

“Sit up and move over,” Derek tells him, clearly wanting to take the spot one end of the couch since Isaac is in the armchair.  “Here,” he adds, thrusting a plate of five pancakes dusted with sugar into Stiles’ hands.  Eileen licks Stiles’ arm hopefully, and he sneaks her a few bites.  

Apparently they’re still trying to be quiet because no one speaks.  Stiles wonders if this is what life with Derek and Isaac is like--stoic silence and waffles.  He smiles at the thought.  There are worse existences. Of course, maybe they’re just hungover.  Either way, they’re not horrible company, especially accounting for the newly added adorable Eileen.

“Wanna know what’s fucked up?” Stiles says, breaking the silence.

“That’s a long list of possible topics,” Isaac says dubiously.

“The whole just-go-with-it-and-merge-the-packs plan isn’t the worst we’ve ever had.”

“If my mother thought it was a shitty plan, she wouldn’t have bothered suggesting it to me,” Derek replies, just a bit defensive.  “But arranged triads aren’t exactly the modern take on things unless you’re opting for the fake-it-til-you-make-it approach.”

“We’ve handled worse scenarios” Stiles mutters bitterly, “At least once we’re neatly tucked away as a triad people would leave us the hell alone and stop looking at us like we’re sad spare parts that won’t ever fit anywhere.”

The silence that follows his statement seems more tense than it should.

“Are you serious?” Isaac asks finally, with a look to Derek that Stiles doesn’t miss.  

“Maybe I’m still drunker than I thought,” Stiles mutters, suddenly embarrassed at the proposition. “Plus, with us we couldn’t fake it til we made it.  We’d annoy the hell out of each other.  We could fake it for a while though--in the name of getting some goddamned peace on the topic for a couple weeks.”

After all, they’re the last two people on earth who’d sign onto any kind of arrangement with Stiles.  He knows from plenty of experience with Lydia and Danny before they added Jackson that playing third wheel is no fun when you never get invited into the triad you were pining for.  Better just nip this drunken brainstorm in the bud.  

_ Still, at least if we faked it for a little while people might quit thinking I’m fucked up for being twenty-two with no “real” relationships to speak of.   _

 

**Isaac**

*****************

 

Isaac’s still processing the statement from Stiles--or more specifically the fact that the idea of not being looked at like a spare part sounds  _ really really  _ good at the moment.  Somewhere in the back of his mind, Isaac always thought if he could ever move past losing Erica and Boyd enough to function in another relationship, he’d be with Scott and Allison.   His Emblem had never matched theirs before--even before he’d met Erica and Boyd.  He’s got no reason to assume it would match now--if he bothered to look.  Still, Scott and Alison had both played a big role in keeping Isaac going completely off the rails in his grief.  Maybe it was just nightingale syndrome, but, if it was, it didn’t make the hurt feel any less real when Scott and Allison had started dating Kira.

_ Maybe I’m just grasping at straws, but we really have had much worse ideas. And I could use a distraction. _

Of course, Isaac has no idea how they’d ever actually pull off a fake relationship , what with the whole werewolves can hear lies thing.  Sure, there’s nothing against arranged triads, and Talia even suggested it, but Scott would never understand it.  He’d say Isaac was giving up and launch into some god-awful speech about how  he’s not going to let Isaac give up on himself which would leave Isaac ever-more infuriatingly in love with and enraged by his Alpha.  

_ God, I’m pathetic,  _ he laments silently, trying not to dwell on the thought too long.

A harsh knock on the metallic door echoes through the loft, making them all wince at the loud noise hitting hungover ears.  Scott’s voice yells loudly after, “Hey, guys, open up.  It’s important.  I think Stiles might be in trouble.  He’s not answering his phone, and he didn’t show up for work.”

Stiles flails, reaching for a pen off the coffee table and scribbling frantically on the back of a magazine.  He holds up the message so Derek and Isaac can see.  It reads, “PLEASE don’t tell him I got trashed.  Too hungover for this shit.”  

Derek rolls his eyes, but Isaac understands all too well avoiding Scott’s patented puppy dog eyes of disappointment.

“Guys!” Scott persists, banging again.

“Coming!” Isaac calls to get the banging to end.  “Stiles is fine.  He’s here.”

“Huh?” Scott says as Stiles glares at Isaac who shrugs.  “That’s good then,” Scott says as Isaac hauls open the door.  “What’s Stiles doing here?” he wonders as Isaac steps aside to let Scott come inside.  “You didn’t get sad drunk again did you?” Scott asks, looking past Isaac to Stiles.  “‘Cause you--”

“He’s fine, Scott,” Isaac says, diverting attention back in hopes Scott won’t see just how hungover Stiles is.  “We just had a few drinks and stayed up late.”

“Guess I didn’t hear my alarm for work,” Stiles says, rising carefully from the couch, making it look like he’s only slow because he needed to stretch.  Isaac’s mildly impressed by the coordination from Stiles--hungover or sober.  “Sorry I worried you, buddy.  How was your date with Allison and Kira?” he wonders.

Isaac knows it’s a surefire way to divert Scott’s attention, but he still loathes the way Scott’s eyes light up at the mention of their names.  “It was so great,” he replies, just as Isaac catches a glimpse of the hickeys along Scott’s neck---that he’s  _ choosing  _ not to let heal if they’re still there.  Because he wants a fucking all-day reminder that the whole damn world can see what an obnoxiously happy, lovey-dovey, night he had with Allison and Kira who’s very clearly headed for the third spot in Isaac’s last hope at ever having any rebound triad after Erica and Boyd.  “We--”

“Don’t need details,” Derek cuts off just as Isaac’s vulnerability is channeling into anger.  “We get it.  It was good.  Congratufucklinglations.”  

He’s being gruff because he’s Derek, but probably also to save Isaac from having to endure Scott’s adoring account of events,  if the momentary eye contact with a glint of concern that Derek gives is any indication.

“Isaac, are you okay?” Scott asks in lieu of responding to Derek with anything more than a frown.  

His face must’ve given something away, and the overwhelming smell of embarrassment is so great that Isaac’s sure Scott can’t miss it.  Isaac’s too exhausted and hungover to mask much of anything right now, especially caught off guard--by his alpha--who he’s also kind of in love with-- _ ah, fuck _ , he bemoans silently as the smell of embarrassment only strengthens.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he lies, and Scott frowns when he hears the stuttering heartbeat.  

“Look, I’ve told you, if me and Allison and Kira make you uncomfortable--I know you’ve lost a lot, Isaac.  Feeling sad is nothing to be embarrassed about.  You know I’m here for you--whatever you need, okay? We--”

But Isaac really,  _ really  _ can’t take a McCall pep speech right now, and before his mouth consults his brain he blurts.  “I’m fine; I just didn’t want you to find out like this.”

It startles Scott to silence, and while Scott’s focus is on Isaac, Isaac sees the looks of ‘what the fuck’ on Derek and Stiles’ faces.

“Find out?” Scott repeats, looking to Stiles and Derek who quickly school their surprise.  “Find out about what?  _ Was  _ Stiles out drinking alone again?  You’ve been out every night this week, Stiles, you--”

“No, Stiles wasn’t out drinking.  He came to see us,” Derek says, and Isaac thinks he might have backup in this Hail Mary, half-baked story he’s trying to sell after no forethought that wasn’t clearly impacted by alcohol--though  _ why _ Derek is on board he isn’t quite sure.  Still, he’ll take what he can get if he doesn’t have to admit that the idea of Scott and Allison out with Kira makes him want to either sob or kill something.

“Why would Isaac be embarrassed that Stiles came to hang out with you guys?” Scott wonders.

“He  _ spent the night _ , Scott,” Isaac replies pointedly, choosing his words carefully to avoid the uptick in heart rate signaling a lie.  

“So what if he--” Scott’s eyes widen as he takes in the meaning.  “Wait,  _ you three  _ had like a  _ date night _ ? Seriously?”

Isaac can’t say yes because they  _ didn’t _ but to have Scott catch the lie now will just make this conversation all the more difficult.  

“Dude, I’m wearing Isaac’s boxers,” Stiles says, rescuing him.  “Draw some inferences.”

“Yeah, well, I just--I never thought--wow, guys this is--it’s--”

Isaac’s waiting for the word stupid, or terrible, or insane, but instead Scott beams and concludes, “It’s  _ awesome _ !”

“Really?” Stiles blurts.

“Yeah, of course!” Scott says, clapping a congratulatory hand on Stiles’ shoulder.   “I mean you know I don’t care about pack politics, but Talia’s been going on for ages about how something like this could strengthen the alliance and really help us maintain the foothold on the territory.”

“You never told me that,” Isaac says, wondering if maybe  _ this  _ is why Scott’s never shown interest.  Hoping to use Isaac as some fucking pawn in a plan with Talia? But Isaac pushes back the anger before it can get too good a hold.  Scott’s better than that.   

“I know.  I just didn’t want to pressure you or anything, not after--everything you’ve been through.  But I worry about you, and I thought--well, you and Derek seem to get each other pretty well, but I didn’t wanna get my hopes up that you guys could be the solution to each other’s problems like Talia was hoping you would be and--”

“For the love of God, McCall, stop talking,” Derek pleads. “If you don’t stop gushing rainbows, I’m going to vomit.”

“Seconded,” Stiles mutters, but when Scott looks like a kicked puppy he amends, “I mean, we appreciate it and all, but kinda embarrassing--plus like, this is still a new situation; don’t rent the wedding tux just yet.”

“I think it’s gonna be awesome,” Scott declares with his dopey hopeful grin.  “I’m super happy for you guys.”

“Thanks,” Stiles says, and the palpable silence that follows seems to make Scott realize he’s maybe intruding.

 “I’m gonna--ya know--get out of your hair or whatever,” he offers, retreating back toward the door.  Glad you’re okay, Stiles, just--keep your phone charged, would ya?”

“Yeah, sorry I worried you.”

“Okay, well, you guys--uh--have fun and stuff.  I’ll see you at pack movie night tonight, right?” he says to Isaac and Stiles.  “Oh, and--uh--Derek, you’re welcome to come if you want, ya know.  We’d love to have you too.”

“Yeah, see you tonight,” Stiles says, all but shoving his best friend back out the door.  “Bye, Scott.”

  
  


Stiles

*****************

 

They stand in almost absolute silence as the sound of Scott’s footsteps retreat back down the stairs.  Stiles can’t hear him anymore, but he’s guessing by the way Derek and Isaac are still concentrating that Scott isn’t quite out of earshot yet. Stiles waits anxiously for someone to break the quiet.

“That was just the first thing, the easiest lie? What the fuck,” Derek mutters passionately, which Stiles takes as the all clear.

“I’m not sure that I’m impressed with us or disappointed in Scott that he actually bought that,” Stiles says.  “So what do we do next?”

“Good question,” Derek replies, “Isaac?” he asks pointedly.

Isaac looks like he’s wishing the floor would just swallow him whole.  “Look, I didn’t mean to, okay? I just--didn’t think.”

“We could always just brush it off as not having worked out,” Stiles says.  “I mean we didn’t tell him that we were definitely a thing.  I qualified that it was just the one date night so--”

“He was calling my mother as he got in his car,” Derek interrupts, clearly perturbed.  “She’s ecstatic.”

“Oh,” Stiles says, barely catching himself before he grimaces.  

“So is Scott,” Isaac adds glumly.  “We can’t quit the same day we get their hopes up.”

“I mean we  _ could _ ,” Stiles says, “but--uh--I mean we could probably pull off “trying” for a week or two.”

“Surrounded by living lie detectors?” Isaac asks dubiously.  

“I think we’ve all had plenty experience walking the fine line between lying and omitting part of the truth,” Stiles points out. “My dad may not be a werewolf, but he is the sheriff; I practically wrote the book on lying by omission.”

_ And between Isaac surviving an abusive father most of his life and Derek managing to be in a relationship with a woman his mother didn’t approve of, I’m guessing you two can totally do this. _

“I give it a week,” Derek says, “tops.”  Stiles opens his mouth to protest but before he can Derek goes on, “but I could do with a week of peace on the issue.”

“What?” Isaac says, mouth falling open in surprise before he can check his expression.  “Wait, really?”

Derek shrugs.  “What the hell, we’ve done crazier shit and stupider shit.  Just add this to the list.”

“I’m in,” Stiles says.  “You know I love a challenge, and seeing how long we can keep this up totally qualifies.  We might have to get things a little awkward, but with enough planning, we can totally make this last the week--anything less and they’ll say we didn’t really try and just pester us even more.”

  
  


Derek

*****************

 

Even though Derek’s been waiting for the question since Stiles started the “brainstorm” session of all the ways to help sell this fake relationship, he still winces internally as Stiles says, “So--just so I’m on the same page and all--what’s up with you guys?”

Derek just raises an inquisitive eyebrow, unwilling to say anything really.

“Look, I don’t care.  It’s nobody’s business if you don’t want it to be except that if we’re trying the fake triad plan, it kinda  _ is  _ my business if part of the triad  _ isn’t  _ so fake so don’t rip my head off for asking the question everyone in _ both  _ packs as been--”

“We aren’t fucking,” Isaac interjects with a supremely annoyed expression.  

_ Not that I haven’t thought about it a few times,  _ Dere mentally adds,  _ but it’s only been a year since Erica, and less than that since Boyd.  I’m not pushing anything.  _

“Right, okay, so nothing that--”

“Nothing,” Isaac confirms, and Derek’s glad that Stiles’ human ears don’t pick up on the slight uptick that signals the lie--whether Isaac means it to be a lie or not.

_ So what  if we get so drunk we kind of cuddle sometimes, well--that’s just wolf stuff.  We’re tactile creatures, right? Totally normal to want contact sometimes.   _

“Really?” Stiles says, eyes widening in a clear indication that he hadn’t meant to blurt that.

“Yeah, you’re definitely going to be able to keep your mouth in check for a week,” Derek scoffs.  

“I just meant--well, I mean--look at you two, and--well you’re both--”  Stiles literally clamps a hand over his mouth to squash the babbling that’s embarrassing him enough to make him blush.  Derek gets the impression that he’s not the only one who can appreciate the mental image of Isaac unclothed.  

“Moving on,” Derek prods, before his train of thought can get too far off track.  “Are we just going to go down the fucking list and do all this that we haven’t?” he asks, looking at the scratch paper on which Stiles has been jotting all their brainstormed phrases and idioms that they can get by on a technicality, like “slept together.”

“Well, I’d say let’s triage, since we know we’re going to get bombarded with questions at movie night tonight,” Stiles suggests.  “Because we’ve already got some stuff we can use.  Like Scott came over to find me half naked--in Isaac’s boxers.  I spent the night with you guys.  Isaac made breakfast.”

“They’re going to ask how it got started,” Isaac says, “and something like “it wasn’t really something we planned; it just happened” should be fine.”

“Am I going to this movie thing?” Derek wonders.  

“Um, yes,” Stiles says like Derek’s an idiot.  “Where else would we get a better excuse to avoid talking about it.  I’m a total babbler, and Isaac will get the whole “we’re you pack; you can tell us anything” speech.  But if you’re there, and stay within earshot  _ at all times _ it would be rude and potentially disastrous to make you feel uncomfortable when Scott’s so clearly hoping this will fit in.”

“He’s got a good point,” Isaac agrees.  “You should come, Derek.”

“Okay. Fine.”

“And in terms of--ya know--like full disclosure and consent and everything, we’re all down to sell slightly cuddly hand-holdy or--”

“Seriously?” Derek interjects.

“It’s okay if it’s stilted.  We’re supposedly only on day two of this.  But we can’t sit ramrod straight and noticeably avoid touching each other without raising commentary and possibly also suspicion.  I’m just saying, let’s make this as easy as possible by saying we all understand anything we do is just part of the show for the pack.”

“Yeah, sure,” Isaac says.  “Makes sense.” It’s clear he has something else to say, but the pause grows for a while, and Stiles decides on a verbal nudge, “Something we should know?”

“Well, Derek knows but--uh--just never--don’t--I’m weird about my arms,” Isaac finishes finally, biting at his lips in a way that clearly conveys his nervousness at revealing the vulnerability.  “My dad--” he starts to explain before amending “It’s not important; just--if you’re going to do anything make sure I see the contact coming.”

It makes perfect sense coming from Isaac.  Stiles can’t help but observe, “You could tell the whole pack that, you know.  Not just for stuff like this.”

Isaac shrugs.  “It’s usually not a problem.  I’m not really a contact kind of person.”

Stiles nods, and goes on, “We don’t  _ have  _ to do anything that makes you uncomfortable.”  He seems baffled by the seething glare he gets from Isaac in return, and Derek can’t help but smirk.    

“I’m not  _ broken _ ,” Isaac growls.  “I’m not a fucking flower that can’t be crushed, okay, I just--”

“Yeah, no, got it,” Stiles affirms quickly in the face of the declaration Derek’s heard a thousand times over the past months of being Isaac’s roommate. “Thanks for the info.  Moving right along,” he continues, pointedly ignoring the smirk Derek’s giving Stiles for his blundering.  “We can totally get through the first twenty-four hours at least, right?”

_ I sure fucking hope so,  _ Derek thinks wearily. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still doing my best to get the links to the artwork set up for the lovely Kiyomisa! They should be fixed very soon.

**Isaac**

*****************

 

They make it through the movie night, mostly by making it clear that this is still too new and talking about it would, in Stiles’ words  “totally jinx it all.”   The three of them pile onto one of the couches together, leaning into one another maybe a little more than usual, throwing one giant blanket over them collectively instead of taking their own individual ones.  It seems to sell the awkward-group-date vibe well enough.  Not even Lydia seems any more inquisitive than usual.  Scott is all smiles, practically bouncing with excitement.  Isaac almost feels guilty for getting his hopes up.  Almost.  If it weren’t for those goddamn hickeys Scott  _ still  _ hadn’t let heal.  

The most awkward moment came when Stiles moved to leave with Isaac and Derek.  They hadn’t really talked about what would happen after the movie--but it was at the apartment Scott shared with Alison and Stiles.  Isaac had assumed Stiles would just stay, but Stiles clearly didn’t plan on it.

“You wanna borrow the car?” Scott asks.  “So they don’t have to drive you back late?”

“Actually, uh--I’ll probably just let Derek drop me by the library on his way to work.”

“Oh,” Scott says, clearly trying and failing to check his expression of surprise and slight judgement. “You sure?”

“Like you and Alison didn’t essentially move in together the moment you met?” Stiles points out.  “Don’t be a prude, buddy. Consenting adults and all that.”

The comment makes Scott flush in embarrassment.  “No judgement, just--yeah, no judgement.”

“Glad you could come, Derek,” Allison says, a bit forced but without any hint of a lie.  “You’re welcome whenever.”

“Thanks,” he replies before turning to open the front door for them all to escape the awkwardness.  

“Tell your mom we said hi!” Scott adds, in possibly the least badass Alpha communication ever directed.  Isaac sighs as Stiles rolls his eyes, and they share a grin of amusement together as they flee out into the hall. 

 

Stiles

****************

 

“So, yeah, awkward but--uh--I figure if we just go ahead and get the whole “sleeping together” thing out of the way tonight, then we’ll have it taken care of,’ Stiles says once they’ve come back to the loft and greeted an excited Eileen.  

“I figured that was why you invited yourself to spend the night,” Derek replies.  

“Dude, no way was I ready to field a billion questions from Scott and Allison if I stayed home with them!” Stiles points out defensively.  

“Good call,” Isaac agrees.

“So who’s got the bigger bed?” Stiles wonders.  “Or is this like--should be move all the beds in one room? Or sleep in the living room sleepover style?”

“Doesn’t matter to me,” Derek says.  “You guys make the call.  Just know I don’t sleep with clothes on.”

Stiles has no hope of keeping the flush from his cheeks at the mental image  _ that  _ statement conjures.  He stammers idiotically, “Well, uh--I, uh--uh--”

“Relax,” Isaac says with a huff of laughter.  “He’s just screwing with you.”

“You’re the worst,” Stiles says grumpily, still a bit abashed he couldn’t school his reaction better.  “Seriously, guys, I’m fucking exhausted and my head hasn’t quit pounding all day.”

“You’re probably still dehydrated,” Isaac supposes.  “Keep drinking water.”

“And my bed’s a King,” Derek adds.  “Crash up there if you’re ready for bed.”

  
  


Derek

*****************

 

Stiles is dead to the world and snoring like a damn freight train when Derek and Isaac head upstairs to go to bed.  

“I’m gonna strangle him,” Derek decides.  

“Derek,” Isaac chides.  “If you’re pissed, be pissed at me, I’m the one who dove into the fake relationship headfirst without thinking.”

“I’m not pissed,” Derek replies, “perturbed, sure, but not pissed.”

“You’re always perturbed,” Isaac reminds him.  “Maybe faking a smile for the next week will do you some good.”

“No one said anything about having to smile,” Derek says.  “Forget it.  Whole deal’s off,” he teases.

“You were smiling at Scott’s,” Isaac points out, “wasn’t so bad, was it?”

_ I was smiling at Scott’s? Huh. I didn’t really think about it.  I figured I just looked awkward as hell the whole time. _

The conversation dies as they get into bed on either side of Stiles.   They all keep to their own space, carefully leaving a few inches of space between them so they’re not touching.  Isaac drifts off to sleep fairly quickly.  Derek lies awake longer, unable to get used to the feeling of other people in the bed with him.  Sure, he’s blown off a little steam here and there, but he’s never stayed the night with anyone--not since Paige.

Last night’s nightmare flashes into his brain, the bright crimson blood stark contrast against her pale skin.

_ You should have known, Derek.   _

He knows the dreams aren’t really Paige’s words; they’re Derek’s subconscious talking to himself.  It doesn’t make the words any less true.  After what happened to Paige, he’s well aware he doesn’t deserve to be part of a triad--arranged or otherwise.  

_ But it could be kind fun to fake it for a week,  _ he thinks as he stares up at the ceiling and drifts off to sleep.    _ That’s not such a bad thing.   _

 

Stiles

*****************

 

After the movie at Scott’s Friday, they make it through brunch with Talia on Saturday, and then through the annual summer cookout at the Sheriff’s house Monday night.  Everyone seems pretty damn thrilled or, at the least, cautiously optimistic.   Most questions they’ve fielded can be deflected with some variation of “I don’t want to talk about it” “I don’t want to jinx it” or Derek’s gruff “None of your business.”  The other inquiries get carefully worded, rehearsed answers.  It’s the longest break Stiles has ever had from worrying about the ever-constant hunt for a triad without there being some kind of supernatural emergency.  It’s pretty damn refreshing.

Tuesday night, Scott sticks his head in Stiles’ room to let him know he’s headed out on another date with Allison and Kira.  Stiles is under a mound of blankets, trying to fend off a bit of a chill.

“You three have fun,” Stiles says, with less of a struggle than usual not to sound bitter.

“Whoa, dude, you don’t looks so good,” Scott says, coming into the room.  “You don’t smell so good either.”

“Fuck you, I showered yesterday,” Stiles whines, though he knows exactly what Scott means.  

“You smell  _ sick _ , Stiles.”

“I’m fine,” he protests.  “Just a little headache and a chill.  I just need a nap or something.  Totally fine.”

“It’s not just a headache.  You’re sick,” Scott persists.  “I’m not gonna leave you home alone and sick; hold on; I’ll tell Alison for her and Kira to just go without--”

“Go on your date, Scott,” Stiles says.  “I don’t need a babysitter.”

“Stiles--”

“Go on your date,” he insists.  “I’ll call you if I need anything.  I swear.”

“ _ Stiles.” _

“Go! I’m just gonna take some nyquil and fall asleep anyway.  I don’t need you to stare at me like a creeper while I do that.”

Scott sighs in a way that says he’s clearly still not happy with the situation, but one more “Go!” gets him back out the door.

“Call if you need anything like  _ at all _ , okay?” Scott says.  

“Sure, buddy.”

True to his plan, Stiles does attempt to take nyquil and crash, hiding under a pile of blankets in an effort to stave off the chills that are keeping him awake.  He’s still wallowing in his misery when the bedroom door opens again with a creak.  

“Scott, I told you I’m fine.”

“No you aren’t, you look like shit,” Derek informs him, and Stiles eyes snap open in surprise.  

“What’re you guys doin’ here?” Stiles wonders as Isaac follows him into the room.

“Came to make sure you weren’t dead,” Isaac replies, “and we brought soup--just like, chicken and stars canned stuff, but ya know--thought that counts?”

“Why?” 

“Because Scott called to ask us to check on you,” Derek replies.  “And there was no way to decline that without looking like assholes of boyfriends.”

“Well, if you guys wanna just leave the soup in the kitchen; I’ll tell Scott you nursed me back to health and all that shit.  Don’t worry about it. You could’ve just called.”

“We did call,” Isaac says.  “Twice.”

“Huh?”

“If that’s what you’re like on cough meds, god help anyone who ever has to deal with you on any type of serious drug,” Derek says.  “If Scott wasn’t obnoxiously truthful, I’d’ve sworn you were just high.”

Stiles’ teeth start chattering again, which seems to distract them.  There’s a little skip in time and they’re suddenly on either side of his tiny twin bed, each wrapping a hand around Stiles’ wrist to pull away pain.  It leaves him with a weird floaty feeling instead of the full-body ache from moments before.   It relaxes him.

“Yeah, just sleep, Stiles,” Isaac encourages.  “You’ll feel better when you wake up.”

  
  


**Isaac**

**********************

 

The bad news was that what they all assumed was a cold turned out to be the flu, and Stiles was down for the count for nearly a full week of misery, even  _ with  _ the early medicine stuff that was supposed to cut down recovery time.  The only silver lining was the excellent good boyfriends fodder it provided to Derek and Isaac without much effort on anyone’s part. The past two days they’ve just kept him sipping broth and took turns pulling pain for a while, and it helped Stiles get through the whole thing bearing at least a bit less of the misery himself.   

All in all it really wasn’t so bad, cramming themselves into bed with Stiles to pull his aches while he rested, with episodes of Brooklyn Nine-Nine on--or various documentaries if Derek was picking, the nerd.  It’s kind of precious to watch Derek fret over Stiles’ “ridiculously fragile” human body.  Nevermind that Derek’s grown up with two human siblings, which, Isaac’s sure Derek’s dad handles most of that care, given that Dr. Hale runs his own general practice. It’s a good reason for them to get used to the physical contact aspect of this whole arrangement, which, to their surprise,  everyone is still buying, hook line and sinker. Isaac is loathe to admit he’s buying it as well.

 

Derek

*****************

 

After three weeks of success with the fake, semi-arranged triad plan, Derek’s finally getting used to seeing Stiles’ number on his caller ID and not automatically thinking  _ fuck, someone’s dying. _  He smiles at the ridiculous selfie Stiles took with Eileen and made his contact picture in Derek’s phone last week.

“Hey,” he says when he answers.

“You know, some days I almost miss the old “This better be worth it, Stiles,” growl you used to answer the phone with,” Stiles says, as if he’d been having the same thought as Derek of how much things can change in a few weeks of getting used to one another’s company.

“Did you call just to hear me answer, or was there a bigger plan here?” Derek wonders, trying to sound annoyed but smiling in spite of himself ---he’s having that issue more and more often with Stiles and Isaac lately.

“Oh, yeah,” Stiles says, getting himself back on track.  “Did you cut the crust off my sandwich?”

“You don’t eat the crust, you heathen,” Derek replies.

“ _ I  _ know that but I didn’t think  _ you  _ knew that.”

“You’ve eaten about five dozen peanut butter and banana sandwiches since you semi-moved in.  You always tear the crust off.  I thought I’d save you a step.”

“I could get used to this,” Stiles informs him.  “Now I gotta pay better attention to you so I can return the favor.”

“I wasn’t the first one who started down this road.  Don’t think I didn’t notice you bought the specific brand of cereal I like but you hate when you went to the grocery store Sunday,” Derek points out.  “Besides, it’s not like we’re keeping score.”

“We  _ could  _ keep score,” Stiles teases.  “I could make us a leaderboard to take up space on that sad empty wall in the living room.”

“It’s not sad! We’re just waiting for--”

“The perfect thing to fill it,” Stiles finished with a sigh.  “I  _ know. _ ”

“You have the patience of a toddler,” Derek informs.  

“Why do you think I refuse to eat my bread crust?” Stiles asks.  “Making up for all those years my angry toddler self was forced to eat the worst part of the bread.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Derek informs.  

“You know, I was calling to say thank you, but suddenly wondering why I even bother being nice to you,” Stiles teases.  

“You’re welcome,” Derek says to the indirect thanks.  “Look, I gotta go, I’m walking into my mom’s office to pick up some papers she needs served today.  Isaac declared it taco night, did he tell you?”

“Yep.”

“And you know that doesn’t mean he intends to make tacos, it means he’s going to use my credit card to order out from someplace?”

Stiles laughs, “Yeah, I know.  I’ll be home by six.”

“See you then.”

Derek hangs up the phone, trying not to think too closely about how good the word “home” sounded coming of of Stiles’ mouth so effortlessly.  

_ Just temporary,  _ he reminds himself.   _ Don’t get so attached.   _ He’s so distracted he nearly runs into the paralegal who’s bustling down the hallway.  Only his supernatural reflexes deliver them from a flurry of dropped paperwork.

“Sorry, Carla! I wasn’t paying attention.  My fault.”

“It’s fine.  The papers she needs to take are with Janice at reception, but I think Ms. Hale’s between consults if you want to say hi.”

“I am between consults,” Mom confirms as she steps around the corner.  “Hey, sweetie.  Come on back.”

“Mom, I’m _twenty-five_ ,” Derek reminds as he follows her to her office.  

“I will call you “sweetie” until you’re seventy-five if I want to,” she replies.  “I’m your mother,” she adds, closing the office door to give them a bit of privacy.  “And as your mother, I have to say, it’s really good to see you smiling so easily these days.”

Derek realizes he must still be wearing the dopey grin from his conversation with Stiles.  He tries to check his expression but isn’t sure how successful he is.  

“It’s only been three weeks, Mom.  Tell me you’re not drawing up prenuptial and pack-alliance documents.”

“Of course not!” she replies, but then grins mischievously and adds, “I’ve got my law clerk drafting them.”

“Mom!”

“I’m kidding, Derek.” Her expression softens and turns the kind of sincere that makes Derek crazy.  “Look, I know it’s been a very long time since Paige, and this is going out a limb for you, but you deserve a little happiness in your love life.  Let yourself enjoy it.”

_ No I don't,  _ Derek thinks reflexively, but he doesn't voice the thought. 

“Ms. Hale, your one o'clock is here,” Janice's voice informs via the intercom on Mom's desk. 

“That's my cue,” Derek says, heading for the door.  “I'll text you once I've gotten everything served.”

“That Mr. Adams that's on the list is a real piece of work,” she warns. “Just a heads up.”

“Thanks.”

“Oh, and do you think you could convince Stiles to come to pack dinner next week?” she wonders.  “I'd love for everyone to meet him.”

“Mom, everyone  _ has  _ met him.”

“You know what I mean. Not in this context they haven't.”

“You're getting your hopes up too high,” Derek chides.

“So sue me,” she teases. “Now shoo, I've got a client and you've got deliveries to make.”

Derek gives an exaggerated glare to the stack of paperwork before sharing a quick smile with his mother. After the paperwork is safely in Janice’s hands, he pulls his phone from his front pocket to let Isaac know he’s on his way home.

Unfortunately, the email that greets him on the lock screen urgently informs him that he’s needed back in the field office on the preserve. It’s late, but not so late that he won’t be able to make it home for tacos.

 

Isaac

******************

 

“Derek had to go back to the office, so there’s no chance he’s getting any of the food if Stiles beats him here,” he explains to Eileen as they lounge in the kitchen together. Eileen huffs in response, flopping down in front of the refrigerator. 

“You think you want it, but I promise you don’t,” Isaac continues the conversation, completely unashamed. Eileen understands more than Stiles or Derek will ever admit to publicly. They wind up in the living room together, waiting for Stiles and Derek to come home. He’s still not sure what Stiles does with most of his time. He’s involved with the library in some capacity, Isaac knows, but nailing down details with Stiles is like trying to nail jello to a tree. You’ve got to get creative if you want answers. Isaac submits their order on his delivery app, and smiles in memory of Derek’s insistence on physically calling and placing orders over the phone. Neither of them have necessarily polite ‘interacting with the public” voices, and so Isaac’s done as best as he can to save the overwhelmed and terrified cashiers of local takeout Derek’s exacting demands.

He knows Derek doesn’t really mean anything by it, but it’s not like Isaac can hand out business cards after every check out wherever they go with “he’s not really an asshole, he just doesn’t know how to play nice” to the employees. He feels for Derek though. If the past six months have taught him anything, it’s that Derek’s silence on pretty much everything is a self-taught defense. Most of the time Isaac feels like it’s not his place to try and fix Derek, or point out his flaws to himself. Derek’s highly aware of them, even though he’s never inflicted his own self-pity on Isaac.

The echoing slam of feet coming up the metal stairway announces Stiles’ arrival about five minutes before Stiles slams the sliding door open. “Fuck this door, and fuck this industrial cave of repressed emotions,” Stiles rages as he marches through the entryway towards the huge wall of windows opposite the door. He sits dramatically, clearly expecting Isaac to indulge him.

“What’s up your ass?” Isaac asks, only because he knows it riles Stiles up and makes him embarrassed. It works, though, and he’s distracted from the five flights of stairs and 400-pound sliding warehouse door. 

“Nothing,” he deadpans. “Where’s the food,” he asks, and Eileen’s head pops up from the couch. “Also is Derek just tired of me now? He did call and tell me to come for dinner so…” Even after three weeks, there’s still an awkward lack of personal acceptance around their fake dating situation. No one’s really been ready to admit that it was easier to get into the routine of spending their time together than they had ever imagined.

“Work,” Isaac replies, avoiding the rest of Stiles’ sentiment. If there’s one thing that really hasn’t gotten any easier, it's filling the silences between the three of them when there’s no audience that requires a performance. Being together always easier when all three of them are present, or there’s food and TV to provide a distraction. With neither condition currently met, the living room is lifeless except for Eileen’s undimmed excitement about the mention of food.

They’re blessedly rescued from staring at their phones in frozen silence when Isaac hears an unfamiliar engine left idling at the building’s entrance. He’s already heading down the stairs when he gets the app’s alert on his phone, Stiles following close behind.

Unfortunately, the food does little to thaw the silence, and after a brief conversation about deciding to not eat Derek’s food as punishment for not being here with them, it returns with a vengeance.

“What’s he doing? Trees can only be so interesting,” Stiles finally says about an hour after they’re finished, the wrappers happily torn to bits and licked clean by Eileen. 

“I don’t think Derek’s really in the business because the trees are “interesting,”” Isaac adds the air quotes. It makes Stiles smile, and he’s all of a sudden glad that Derek isn’t here to hear Isaac’s reaction to it. He rolls his eyes at himself, but it works well with the sentiment, and Stiles laughs again.

They head back to their phones, the quiet less oppressive than the past few hours. He’s not even sure what he’s doing on it really, besides avoiding Stiles. Derek, much to Isaac’s surprise, is much better at prompting words out of him than Isaac is, and he can’t help but feel like he’s just not getting something fundamental about Stiles that Derek has yet to share with him.

“He should be back by now,” Isaac says, looking up at the windows across from the couch. The sun’s almost set, but it’s already incredibly late for the summer sky.

“Mmm?” Stiles hums, his face more illuminated by his own phone than by the fading light behind him.

“I said Derek should be home, and he isn’t,” Isaac repeats. Isaac says the words with as little panic as possible, but Stiles’ heart rate spikes, a clear signal that Isaac wasn’t as successful at remaining calm as he wanted to believe. Stiles continues to stare at his phone, intently tapping it a few times.

“He hasn’t really moved in the past few hours,” Stiles says to his phone screen, setting Isaac on edge. “But the location sharing doesn’t really tell me anything other than his current location and when he’s about to to be close to my location.”

Isaac is sidetracked for only a few seconds. “How’d you get Derek to agree to that?” Derek refused his own request for it, citing werewolf senses’ superiority. Isaac supposes that it's technically true, especially for a pack that’s family first and centrally located. Danny built the McCall pack’s location sharing app as part of their mourning of Erica. If they’d known where the two of them were being kept by the alpha pack, or even had time to send an emergency signal and location, it would have been just as helpful as a scent trail. 

It’s great to have the access to everyone in the pack now that they’re all at their respective universities during the year. It keeps them connected and secure in a way that the Hale pack has rarely had to worry about.

“Did you get Danny to just install it anyway?” Isaac asks as they take the stairs down at a clipped pace. Eileen’s confused howls a few floors up adds to the anxiety that they’re desperately trying to stave off.

“All I had to do was add one of my fingerprints into his phone when he let me add my birthday to my contacts,” he explains, and Isaac smiles at the memory of Derek asking Stiles for it about a week ago, so desperately nonchalant about the whole thing.

“He just wanted a picture of you,” Isaac teases lightly, and Stiles blushes. Isaac clips Stiles’ phone into the holder as they pull out of the parking lot, Derek’s point flashing. Danny tried to explain all the thought behind movement and stillness that he’d built into the framework of the app, but at this point, Isaac’s desperately glad that Stiles just ignored Derek’s stubbornness. 

“Do you think we can handle it on our own?” Stiles asks as they drive further into the woods, “Or do we need backup?”

“He’s at the office,” Isaac says, but neither of them believe it. 

“Lydia might…” Stiles doesn’t finish his thought out loud. Neither want to consider the situation serious enough to include her in it. She’s always willing to help, but unwilling to keep her feelings to herself about being treated like a supernatural police dog.

“I’ll probably just tell Talia that he’s late from work, and if he’s not with his phone, we’ll call her,” Isaac supposes as he brings up his messages to keep the Hale pack informed. It probably best that this comes from Isaac and not from Scott, considering the high expectations the two alphas have of their “relationship”.

  
  


Stiles

**********************

The trail to the Forestry Department’s little welcome center slash cabin is a smooth ride for the two of them, but immediately disheartening. Derek’s SUV is sitting in front of the office, along with the ATV the department uses to get through some of the more treacherous parts of the preserve. Whatever the department wanted him to check out, he left on foot.

“Think he’s at the river?” Stiles hopes. If he is, then it's a relatively easy trek down. They park next to the SUV and Isaac hurries up the porch stairs of the office to look in the windows.

“He’s been gone a couple of hours,” Isaac has a death grip on his phone, the bright screen the only light now as the sun almost fully sets.

“Lydia?” 

“Lydia.” Stiles is impressed with Isaac’s poker face since this is anything but a calm situation. Derek’s location is right on top of Stiles’ and Isaac’s corresponding dots, but there’s every chance that the triangulation required for accurate placement won’t work so far away from service. He switches to see everyone else’s location and Lydia’s at home, presumably alone without Danny and Jackson. 

She answers on the first ring, highly unusual for someone as busy as she is with summer coursework.

“Who’s dead?” she answers sarcastically. “Is he?” Stiles returns, ice running through his veins. He glances up to the porch where Isaac’s leaning on one of the posts by the stairs, his expression frozen.

“Is who,” Lydia asks, sounding distracted.

“Derek.”

The line goes quiet, the seriousness of the situation slamming into all three of them.

“I’ll ask.” The reply is cryptic instead of sarcastic, so at least there’s that.

“Not dead,” she responds after a surprisingly quick silence. “But part of him is missing?”

“Missing?? What, like missing an arm? Missing what? How do you-”

“Stiles, if I knew how any of this worked, don’t you think I would have told you by now?”

“No.” Stiles had to give up the academic study of her power when he left for college, and although the unresolved nature of her connection to the supernatural bothers him from time to time, it hasn’t been as big of a concern for him. Until now.

_ Looks like the calm before the next storm is over,  _ he bitterly laments.  _ Again. _

“Exactly.”

“Helpful,” Stiles rubs his free hand over his face, trying to pull his thoughts and nerves into line. It’s impossible most of the time, but if they’re going to avoid a full on call to action from the pack, he’s got to be able to think more linearly than he’s currently capable of.

“Also something about finding peace, or at least silence,” Lydia adds in lieu of an apology. “Not peace and quiet from you two,” Stiles catches Isaac’s flash of surprise that she assumed they would be together at all. “It's an old emotion. That’s all I’ve got.” Even she sounds frustrated with herself.

“Just keep an eye, or ear, or whatever,” Stiles says. He’s not sure if it really makes sense, but it feels appropriate. 

“How long should I give you two before I call Scott?” Her voice drips with superiority, but he can feel that she’s only saying it to distract him from the oncoming panic. 

“One hour. I’ll call when we’ve got him,” Stiles promises before ending the conversation.

“To the river?” Isaac supposes, and Stiles nods in agreement. Isaac sets off down the wide open path to the left of the forestry office, and Stiles catches up to his clipped pace after pulling his floodlight from the trunk of his jeep.

Isaac marches right off the path and into the undisturbed forest about five minutes in, his face determined. At this point, Stiles would have certainly made a joke about Lassie and catching the scent, but all he can imagine is tripping on a severed arm in the darkness. He tries not to let his panic spiral out of control since Isaac is serious, but not to the point of calling Scott.

  
  


Isaac

********************

 

“He’s not hurt, I would know it if he was dead,” Isaac says as they wind up at the nemeton,  _ again.  _

Stiles glares at the tree, and Isaac can practically hear Stiles’ silent fuck-you soliloquy to it. Isaac hates getting too close to it, but Derek’s scent is so strong and diffuse in this part of the forest that he’s worried he’s not actually being guided by it anymore. Stiles smells sour with barely contained panic, and if he didn’t think it would make the situation ten times worse, Isaac would let himself feel the same.

But as far as scent goes, Lydia is right. Derek’s confused, and he’s also longing for something. It doesn’t make any fucking sense, especially so out of the blue like this. Derek’s not one for words or heart to hearts with Isaac, but he thought Derek was at least marginally happier than what he’s sensing now.

  
  


Derek

*********************

The two men standing in front of what’s left of his pack’s nemeton pull out their phones to debate where they have and have not looked for Derek. Normally his mother would expect Derek to help lost hikers in their territory, but the tall one is clearly a werewolf.

They’ve been at it for forty-five minutes, and Derek has no idea why he knows he can trust them. It’s not like the forest or anything in it has ever been dangerous to him before, and their panic is so thick that Derek’s heart races out of simple commiseration.

“Hey,” Derek says from his lookout. The werewolf looks up in his direction immediately, but he knows that he’s too far away to be clearly seen in this light. He’s had plenty of opportunities to practice when his mother comes looking for him, so if he can hide from an alpha, these two don’t have a chance of figuring anything out that Derek doesn’t want them to.

“Derek?” the man asks, and he sounds like he’s coaxing a cat out from under the porch. The other one goes silent at the remark, and Derek’s heart races to hear their combined reactions. He feels like he’s about to fall off the top of the cliff, the panic is so uncontrollable. 

_ It's a dream,  _ is all he can compare the situation to. You can’t stop the fall, but you know you wake up before you hit anything. The practical knowledge doesn’t make the reality of the situation any worse. He’s not dreaming. The scents, and the two guys by the tree are too real and normal for his mind to make up. No one from his family has come to find him like the usually do, and he can’t shake the feeling that at least the werewolf are part of a pack that he might know.

He moves out from behind the tree a mile away, and the werewolf’s head turns again.

“Thank fuck,” the man breathes. “What?” The human asks, shoving over into the werewolf’s space, trying to see Derek in the darkness with only a flashlight beam.

“Why didn’t you answer your phone?” He sounds pissed, and the human’s face changes to match. The irritation in the air is contagious as he walks closer, cautious but inexplicably trusting. He can’t believe he’s literally walking up to two strangers after putting Paige in the ground because of his own recklessness. The emotions that should accompany this thought aren't correct, and for some unfathomable reason he desperately wants to hug the strangers, relieved that they've found him.

“Who even are you two,” he snarls back to cover his own confusion, close enough that he’s in the human’s beam of light. “And why are you in my forest?”

**Author's Note:**

> As always, we welcome your comments. If you feel we've missed anything in the tags or warnings, let us know. We'll be happy to update them.


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